


Trying To Make Some Sense Of It All

by Kachelofen



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 138,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kachelofen/pseuds/Kachelofen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an age-inverted AU which aims to stay IC. Alternating viewpoints. Brian is a little shit and Justin is just trying to be patient while his life is turned upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a self-indulgence and hence it has all the things that you hate: enough sex for it to be NC-17, but it’s not graphic enough to be porn and it’s sprinkled with quotes from the show, but most of them are completely out of context. Some of the plot is from the show, too, but obviously a little askew – or a lot askew, even. 
> 
> The title is a line from the song _Stuck In The Middle With You_ by Stealers Wheel. But it probably says more about how I feel about this fic than its contents. And it’s only fair to warn you that the next line in the song goes: _But I can see that it makes no sense at all_.

 

**PART ONE**

It's my first time in the backroom of Babylon. I've heard of it, of course, but, having been to the club only twice before, I have never had the opportunity – or the desire – to enter. As I am dressed in my best shirt and pants, I don’t dare lean back against the wall because God only knows what’s stuck to it.

The guy on his knees in front of me has a pleasant smile and his dance moves were good, so I readily agreed when he offered to give me a blowjob. After all, that's what I've come here for, isn’t it? So maybe he expressed it in a way that grated with me, coming from a stranger, but I'm just drunk enough not to care. I try not to pay any attention to the activities and the noises around us, but the smell I cannot escape. It smells of booze and sweat and sex and it’s intoxicating.

It seems incredibly appropriate to come here for the first time today of all days. On the other hand, what good is it going to do now? He will never know. There could be a raid and my face could be plastered on every front page in town tomorrow morning and he would never know. Shame that, because this is exactly how he viewed gay people. I should have done this before and thrown it in his face, but this has never been my scene. Too seedy, too open, too... honest? 

The guy has opened my pants and pulled my underwear down and is stroking my cock now. I can’t help but hope that my Armani pants won’t slide all the way down because if I don’t trust the walls, I shudder to think what’s on the floor. He slides one hand under my balls and uses the other one to hold my cock while he licks it up and down.

I am as hard as a rock and want this for so many reasons, but it's not what I usually do. I’ve had blowjobs before. Of course, I have, I'm gay after all and we all love blowjobs. But usually, I know the guy’s name and quite a bit else about him. This is not really me.

I know why I’m here. It’s psychology 101. I want to prove my dad right in everything he ever said about gays and then I want to tell him that I’m one of them and that I love it, all in the crudest possible terms. But no matter how I phrase it, I will never have the chance to do that because all my life I’ve been too chicken shit to tell him anything. Oh, I’ve had plenty of excuses, most of them somehow supplied to me by my mother. _No need to rock the boat. Finish your education first. It won’t accomplish anything. Your father will disown you._ But what it comes down to is that I am a coward. I should have told him because now, he will never have known me.

So I’m here, in the backroom of some club that all my friends consider the lowlife of gay Pittsburgh, getting a blowjob from a stranger. It really isn’t me. This is just too sordid.

I put my hands on the guy’s cheeks and tilt his head up so I can look at him.

“I’m Justin. What’s your name?”

He smiles broadly. “Todd.”

I smile back at him. “Hey, Todd, how’re you doing?”

His smile broadens a little more. “Fine.”

And then he starts on my cock in earnest and while knowing his name may not really make any difference, it makes me feel better. Or maybe it’s the fact that my cock has now disappeared into Todd’s mouth and he is really very good at what he’s doing. I close my eyes and no longer think about it when I lean against the wall.  

When I come, sighing and grateful, I'm surprised that he swallows and then licks my cock clean so thoroughly that I can feel it wanting to come back to life. I could never do that to a stranger. Todd seems to be in heaven though, smiling blissfully. I like sucking cock myself, but not like this and not here. God, I hope he doesn’t want me to reciprocate.

I imagine myself kneeling on the come-stained floor, giving a blowjob in front of two dozen people – the same two dozen people who just watched me receive a blowjob. Jeez, I must be really drunk that I managed to get it up in here. And suddenly, I wonder if I will be allowed to leave like this. I have no idea what the etiquette is in this place and, for all I know, all these guys are Todd’s buddies. And even if not, how selfish would it be to just walk out?

Todd is finally finished and tucks me back in neatly before standing up. He's a couple of inches taller than me.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks and seems concerned. “You don’t look so good.”

“I feel sick,” I say and it’s the God’s honest truth.

“You should get some fresh air,” he suggests pleasantly.

I can just nod and stumble out of the room. The noise level shoots up when I get into the main area of the club and it takes me a few moments to remember where the exit is. At the coat check-in, I retrieve my suit jacket and waistcoat. I put both on although my shirt is still unbuttoned. I really should have changed before I came here, but if I'd gone home first, I would have lost my courage and that would be another thing to regret. No, it had to be today.

Outside, the night air makes me feel less sick but strangely more drunk. I walk for a bit to get away from the people coming in and out of the club until I stop under a streetlight. Leaning against it, I start buttoning up my shirt.

When I look back at the entrance, I watch the people leaving it. There's a group coming out just now and I marvel at how confident they seem. Like they do this every day – which they probably do. They're having a conversation, but apart from the dark-haired guy, who looks about twelve, none of them look too happy. There's a tall guy in – is that tangerine? – leather pants with an orange shirt and a slightly smaller one who looks strangely non-descript.

And then there's the fourth member of the group, tall, auburn hair, and dressed in black jeans and a plain dark t-shirt. And still, he sticks out more than his colorful friend. He is beautiful, but it’s not just that. There's something about him that draws my eye and I’m not the only one. Almost every guy here is cruising him more or less openly.

I’m not cruising him, just admiring. This guy is way out of my league. What would I want with someone who can have any guy he likes? I have trouble enough keeping the ones who are not even that attractive. He has his arm slung casually over the shoulders of the guy who looks like a kid. God, how does that guy even get into Babylon? Didn’t the bouncers check his ID? They checked mine.

Suddenly, the good looking guy is looking straight at me and his eyes are something else, too. He has been casually checking out everyone around him while talking to his friends. Now it’s my turn, but his eyes don’t glide over me, like they have done with the other guys. He lifts his arm from his friend’s shoulders, still looking over, and then ignores his calls as he walks straight up to me.

“Hey, how is it going? Had a busy night?”

His voice makes me tingle. He just oozes sex. His eyes sparkle with an amused challenge. They seem dark, but it could just be the light. His lips are full and display a slight smirk. He's even taller than he seemed from the distance and I have to look up at him. He's younger than me, maybe just a couple of years, maybe half a dozen or so, it’s difficult to tell.

I wonder what it must be like to be this beautiful and this confident. Does it make your life much easier? It must do. But I’m not stupid. I can recognize a predator when I see one.

“Does that line really work?” I ask, amused now.

He shrugs. “Nobody cares what I say as long as I speak to them.”

Is he serious? I upgrade my assessment from confident to arrogant. And want to kick myself that I feel flattered by his attention. And, boy, does he do attention well! There's something in the way he looks at me that makes me feel like I’m the center of the universe. I suppose, I _am_ just now, because he wants to get into my pants. But I know the type, I will disappear into a dark hole as soon as he gets his rocks off. On the other hand, isn’t that exactly what I want today? Who cares if he’s using me, as long as it also means that I can get laid by the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on?

“Brian!” His friend has come up to us, gives me a dismissive glance, and then turns back to... Brian.

“We have to go. Mom’s shift finishes in half an hour. I have to get home.”

Brian doesn’t look away from me. “Do you have a place?”

“Yeah,” I hear myself say.

“Then why are we still here?”

“Because your friend says you have to go.” Or maybe he’s his little brother, only, they don’t look alike.

He looks at the guy, who's about my height and doesn’t look any older close up. “Go home, Mikey. I’ll see you later.”

“Brian, don’t be stupid. You know Mom won’t let you in if you don’t come home with me.”

Brian shrugs. “I’ll come through the window.  Just leave it open.”

“No. I want you to come with me.”

“Well, you’re shit out of luck then. I’m going with him.” He points to me.

I can’t remember inviting him or even just agreeing to anything but can’t help feeling a little smug when his friend shoots daggers at me. Brian makes an inviting gesture, telling me to lead the way and just out of the corner of my eyes, I can see Mikey’s face turn into a mixture of hatred and hurt, as he stares after us silently.

“Shouldn’t you walk him home?” I ask. “A kid that age shouldn’t be walking around alone at this time of night.”

Brian laughs as if I said something really funny, but he doesn’t answer. When I stop by the jeep, he walks around it slowly and I can see that he likes it. I suppose, it's every gay boy’s dream. But again, he doesn’t say anything and just gets in on the passenger side.

“Do you have a license?” I ask.

“Sure.”

“I had too much to drink. Do you wanna do the honors?”

He looks at me in surprise. “For real?”

“It’s either that, or walk. It’s not too far. It’s just on Fuller.”

“Okay,” he says and I get out to walk round the car to get into the passenger seat. His friends are still standing by the streetlight, watching us and talking amongst themselves. Brian just slides over into the driver’s seat, grinning to himself.

He tells me that he doesn’t need any directions and while he's driving us home I’m wondering if I’ve gone insane. I’m letting a complete stranger drive my car and when he’s done that, I’m planning on taking this complete stranger up to my loft and having sex with him. Yeah, I must have gone insane, because alcohol alone is not enough to account for this madness.

Normally, I apologize for the rickety elevator to anybody I take home. Most people eye it with suspicion, although it works well and has yet to let me down. Daphne, who's a little claustrophobic, always insists on taking the stairs. But Brian doesn’t seem to have any qualms. He ducks under the wooden gate without hesitation when I hold it up for him.

Then he's leaning against the opposite wall and watches me, undressing me with his eyes, planning, anticipating. I don’t mind. I know most guys find me attractive. I have that boyish look about me still, that forces me to show my ID in more places than I care to admit. As annoying as that can be, it also reconciles me with the fact that I’ll be turning thirty next year. A watershed in every gay man’s life, however pathetic that may be.

“So, what’s with the suit?” he asks, smirking his amusement at my formal attire.

I look down at myself and shrug. “I’ve come straight from my father’s funeral.”

If I was hoping to shock him – which maybe I was a little – I am disappointed. After barely a second’s hesitation, he barks out a laugh. “Best thing you can do. Celebrate.”

I smile ruefully. Over the years, I've come across a lot of people who were rejected by their parents when they came out and it always seems that if any of the parents come round eventually, it’s usually the mother. “You, too, huh?”

His face darkens and he stays silent. It suits me just fine.I don’t really want to talk about it anyway. And I get it, no bonding over asshole fathers. In fact, no bonding at all by the looks of it, because he’s back to picturing me naked and now he’s actually licking his lips. Watching him, I’m starting to imagine what those lips will look like wrapped around my cock. I shiver a little and grow hard. It makes him smile.

On the top floor, he opens the gate to let me pass first and I can feel his eyes on me, as I go ahead and unlock the door. Leaving it open, I do a quick inventory of my loft while he closes it behind me. I didn’t expect anybody to come here today, so my place is the usual mess, but I dare say, he won’t care. And it’s not as if it would be any less messy if I _had_ anticipated visitors.

When I turn to look at him, I just catch an expression of wonderment as he looks around. For those few seconds, he looks very young all of a sudden. It's same expression that he viewed the jeep with.

“Cool place,” he says, taking in the high ceilings, the designer kitchen and the raised platform that forms the bedroom. Then he seems to catch himself and he adds with a lazy voice, “I’m gonna get a place like this, only mine will be on Madison Avenue.”

It's said with such conviction that, even given the property prices in New York and, you know, living in Pittsburgh, of all places, I kind of believe him. He seems to have the necessary confidence to achieve things.

I walk over to the fridge and take out two bottles of water. Better start battling my hangover now because I might not get round to it later. I open one and take a long drink. Then I turn around. “Do you want some wa...” I nearly choke because, while my back was turned, Brian has taken off all of his clothes, barring a thong which is straining under the bulge of his hard-on.

God, he is beautiful. Long limbs, a swimmer’s body, with narrow hips and somewhat broader shoulders, maybe a little on the skinny side, but just... breathtaking.

He holds out a small plastic package towards me. “Do you want some Special K?”

Huh? He’s offering me cereal? At this time of night? And shouldn’t that be the other way round, since this is my place? Luckily, my brain kicks in just before I can make a complete fool of myself.

“I’m allergic to a lot of drugs, so I think I’ll pass.”

He nods and throws the bag towards where he discarded his clothes on the couch. Then he pulls down his underwear and takes that off, too, spreading his arms wide as he stands back up. He's clearly not adverse to close inspection and neither does he have any need to be. Really not. His erection is as impressive as the rest of him. And I’m glad he’s not asking me any more questions. I don’t think my brain will save me this time.

“Come here,” he says and it’s husky and, oh, so seductive.

I walk over to him as if in a trance, my eyes travelling up and down his body. I want to touch every inch of that body and I do hope the feeling is mutual. But he surprises me again. When I’m close enough, he takes my arm but not to pull me closer like I was hoping. No, he just takes the bottle of water that's still in my hand. His smirk tells me that my face is giving away my disappointment.

And then I watch him drink. His neck is long and graceful. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down slowly and I know I will paint this as soon as possible. When he’s halfway through the bottle, he stops and pours the rest over his head, shaking his hair to make the water droplets fly. I'm mesmerized by a small rivulet running down his chest, just next to his nipple, which is a lovely dark shade in a sea of bronze.      

I don’t really register him letting the empty bottle drop onto the floor, but I do feel his hand cupping my neck, pulling me towards him. And then he’s kissing me. Really kissing me. I’ve had a string of boyfriends over the last ten years and I have always loved kissing, but nobody has ever kissed me like this. His tongue is in my mouth before I can even finish the thought that I want it to be in there. He fucks my mouth with it. There's no other way to describe it. It’s harder and more punishing than the hardest I've ever kissed anybody. Because this is not my boyfriend. This is not about love or even making love. This is pure sex.

I feel an incredible sense of relief and anticipation. This is what I wanted and never dared ask for, or demand, ever since I started having sex. If he keeps this up, then maybe I can finally have the sex I always dreamed of and fantasized about. I'm so engrossed in kissing him back as hard as I can and as hard as he can take it, that I don’t realize that he has opened my pants until I feel his hand wrapping round my naked cock. I grunt, half in surprise and half in pleading for him not to stop.

Then he manhandles me to the bedroom, pushing and shoving me backwards any way he pleases until I find myself on my bed, miraculously naked, barely aware of how he pulled my clothes off on the way here. He doesn’t let up at all, following me with his body immediately, biting, licking, sucking on mine and I want to tell him to show me everything he’s got and maybe I do because he laughs a little. 

And then something shifts in me. It could be the fact that he's laughing at me and makes me feel pathetic. Or maybe it’s the realization that, for once in my life, I can have the sex I’ve always craved because this guy won't think of me as a slut in the morning or even if he does, why would I care? He hasn’t even asked for my name so far.

That’s when I decide that I will take what I need from tonight, just this once. No embarrassment, no inhibitions and I trust there will be no admonishing ‘slow down’ or ‘what’s gotten into you tonight’ from him either. When I start to use my hands and mouth on him, he laughs a little again and whispers, “That’s better.” And I pray to a God I don’t really believe in, that I will remember every second and every little detail of this night tomorrow morning. And every day that comes after that.

 

*******

 

“My, my, what’s a guy like that doing at Babylon, I ask you,” Emmett says in that weird Southern drawl that he has.

“Dancing, drinking,” Ted suggests drily.

“Fucking,” I add, without even looking to see whom they're talking about. As far as I'm concerned, ultimately, everybody comes here to fuck. Or at least, wanting to fuck, although some have more success than others.

Predictably, Michael laughs at that and moves a little closer to me. In general, I don’t mind Michael being close. He can drag me onto his bed and I’m happy to squeeze into the small space with him to read comics or he can practically sit in my lap at the diner, and I don’t even notice. But here at Babylon I feel crowded. He’s cramping my style. He doesn’t look a day older than when we met at fourteen, for fuck’s sake! He looks even younger than Emmett, when I know for a fact that Emmett is a year younger than both of us. But of course, Emmett's shacking up with Godiva, who's some sort of revered matriarch around here. She introduces him to all the right people and puts a word in for him. He even gets into Babylon for free. I'm almost envious, but then I sometimes wonder if they're fucking and that really puts it all into perspective for me because I wouldn’t fuck either Godiva or Emmett.

“I reckon he’s a breeder,” Ted says. They're still looking at the guy on the dance floor.

“Yeah, that’s why he’s at a gay night club,” I say sarcastically. “He took the wrong turn on the turnpike.” 

“Just saying,” Ted mumbles. “I bet he’s got a wife and kids at home.”

“Who are you talking about?” Mikey finally joins in, craning his neck to see. “Brian can tell you. His gaydar never fails.” He beams up at me.

“The blond beacon in the suit,” Emmett says.

I don’t see anybody in a suit, but there’s a guy dancing up a storm in formal pants and a dress shirt. I watch him for a bit. He moves with total abandon to the music. He’s either very uninhibited or very drunk. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up and it’s unbuttoned, but that’s all the concession he’s making to this hub of scanty clothing.

“He’s gay alright,” I say with confidence. I’m almost sure that I’m right, but even if I’m not that just means that he will never be seen again after tonight and how is anybody going to prove me wrong then? I know I haven’t seen him here before because I would remember. I’m always attracted to the great dancers. It stands to reason that if they can move on the dance floor, they can move their body in other situations, too. And his blond hair kind of stands out. Come to think of it, he is very attractive, almost beautiful in an otherworldly kind of way, maybe a little short and too young for me.

I like my tricks older and more experienced. One, I might learn something and I’m always up for that and two, it's more of a challenge to make them bottom for me. Twinks are no fun. Although this one is dancing with Todd, so he can’t be a total bottom or, if he is, Todd will be severely disappointed later.

I drain the last of my beer, putting it on the bar and zero in on a guy with tattoos, whom I've been sizing up on and off for a week. I would have fucked him before now, but there have been other, more urgent candidates. I start dancing close to him and within a minute we're practically plastered against each other, cock to cock and we really don’t need any words. I nod towards the backroom and he follows me silently.

After a bit of kissing and groping, we have a short battle of wills and then he’s facing the wall and I’m preparing him. It doesn’t always work out this way, but I’ve been coming here for over four months now and I’d say ninety-five percent of the guys that I drag in here are happy to take it up the ass from me. And the other five percent have been worth it so far, because you can’t be a good top if you don’t know how to bottom. I reckon I’ll top exclusively from now on. I’m hot enough to get away with it, even at my age. Guys have been lining up to suck me off or get fucked by me from day one.

I've just finished preparing tattoo guy, and have my dick at his hole, when I see Todd come in with the blond guy in tow and he parks himself right in my line of vision. Blondie looks uncomfortable, but Todd won’t care and his blowjobs are really something. But then I wonder if Ted was right after all about the wife and kids because Blondie tells Todd his name and asks for his. He's really not from around here.

I get caught up in what I'm doing, concentrating on the guy in front of me to make sure he has a memorable experience. I’ve got a reputation to build. When I look at Blondie again – Justin, he said his name's Justin – I almost falter because he looks so blissed out and, yes, even from a bit closer he's still beautiful. Then I lose track for while because I’m in the middle of a fuck and when I’m finished, Justin is gone. Shame, maybe he would have been worth checking out after all.  

As expected, Mikey's waiting for me outside the backroom, telling me we have to go home. I check the time and, right enough, it’s nearing the end of Debbie’s shift. I don’t know how he expects to get away with sneaking out for much longer when his mother's working at the Liberty Diner. It’s only a matter of time until someone blabs to her that her son is trawling Babylon three times a week. Or until there'll be a new bouncer and Vic vouching for him while he was here on a visit will no longer be enough to make them ignore that his ID is a bad fake.

Out of all of us, only Ted is old enough to get in legally and to buy drinks. But like I said, Emmett is Godiva’s protégé and I… well, I have my own ways. And my fake ID is much better quality. You get what you pay for and I just happen to have plenty of the right currency.

Outside, I sling my arm over Mikey’s shoulders because I no longer need to appear available. I’m done for the night. That's not to say that I no longer check out every guy in the vicinity, but that’s just habit. Oh, there's Blondie again, taking a breather and making himself presentable to go home. I remember how he looked when Todd was sucking him off and I think to myself that I really shouldn’t let this opportunity pass, in case he never turns up again.

Five minutes later, I stare enviously at his car. My dream car. I try not to let it show too much, but when he asks me to drive, I can’t believe my luck. Is he for real? He lets some guy he’s just met drive his car? I wasn’t lying to him when I told him that I have a license. He’s not to know how many odd neighborhood jobs it took to pay for it, nor that it's no more than three weeks old. I fully intend to buy myself a car with the money from the summer job I have scored, but this... this is something else.

His place looks like a dump from the outside and the elevator is even worse, but that's all forgotten when I get into the loft. Oh my fucking God, what a place! The kitchen is designer and everything is open plan, with high ceilings and all the original beams. His sleeping area is like an altar, which is exactly as it should be. It’s the coolest place I’ve ever been to, but he has no idea how to decorate. Jeez, how can one person have so much clutter? Has he never heard of traveling light?

In the elevator, he was pretty turned on, despite his feeble attempt at conversation. Yeah, like I’m gonna discuss dear old Jack with him. Or anything at all. That’s not what we’re here for. Time to move this along a bit, before he sees me staring around in envy. But he’s on his way to the kitchen now, so I think I’ll just get started on my own.

When he turns around, he stares at my naked body, as I knew he would. I can’t make him out. He seems like an innocent in some ways, one of those let’s-get-to-know-each-other types, that you have to overwhelm to shut them up. Not my favorite type, because I’m not interested in them and I’ll be damned if I share any information about myself. But there's also something a little jaded about him. That’s good, it means more fucking and less talking, only, they are usually a bit passive. Ah well, I don’t mind doing all the work.

From what I could see, he has a great body. Toned just this side of defined muscles, but still soft and pliant. Love the skin tone, all porcelain that never sees any sun. It makes some people look pasty, but not him, on him it looks like a work of art or an empty canvass. I wanna paint on him all right.

He looks kind of angelic, not just that shock of blond hair but his features, all even, with full lips and those incredible blue eyes. I wonder how old he is. I reckon, he’s not that much older than me, a couple of years maybe, early twenties, tops. God, how I want to do things to him that he never dreamed of and see him looking debauched under me.

He’s reluctant at first, all looks and no action, but when I kiss him, something snaps and he’s giving as good as he takes and he can take quite a lot. I revel in the knowledge that he'll have some light bruising tomorrow. Try and explain that away.

“Show me everything,” he whispers, barely audible, and I have to laugh because I intend to. Even after a blowjob and a fuck in the backroom, I know that I won't be finished with him until I've tried every position imaginable. I want my cock up his ass and down his throat and his down mine. I want to rim and be rimmed. Suck and fuck. And then do it all over again. I thought I was finished for the night, but this is just the beginning.

At first, he seems a bit hesitant, but that doesn’t stop him from being more responsive than anyone I’ve ever been with. He relishes every touch, however slight. When I rim him, he comes in less than two minutes and he’s not even embarrassed about that. And then he starts reciprocating, wanting to try everything and, fuck, he gives me the best blowjob I’ve had so far.

Time loses all meaning. We seem to be going at it for hours and yet it seems to be over in a flash when we pass out from sheer exhaustion in the early hours of the morning.

 

I get woken up by the alarm and it takes me a moment to work out where I am. Not at home because there's a naked body in my arms and wouldn’t that go down well with dear old Mom and Pop? Not at Mikey’s either because I never sleep in Mikey’s bed, especially not naked, however much he'd like me to. I open my eyes and look into the bluest eyes I've ever seen and with them comes the memory of hours of fucking and even a name, Justin.

He leans over me to hit the alarm and lies back down, looking at me. Fuck, here it comes. This is why I never stay over at a trick’s place, because I don’t want to do the morning-after talk. What's the point? Once I walk out that door, I will forget about this before I reach the street. If I want someone to talk to, I go to Mikey.

He gives me a blinding smile and strokes my cheek tenderly, but before I can pull back, he's up and out of the bed. “I’m going to have a shower. If you like, you can have a shower afterwards and I’ll make some breakfast, but I have to be at work in just over an hour.”  

I watch him walk naked into the adjacent bathroom and he has definitely the most perfect ass I've ever seen. It's round and smooth and just the right size to fill your hands nicely. Okay, so here's my cue to leave. I hear the shower come on and get up to find my clothes. As I walk towards the main living area, I turn my head and see him in the shower, surrounded by steam, and lathering that beautiful body with a big smile on his face.

And somehow I take a detour and find myself in the shower with him. He's a little startled when I open the shower door, but then his eyes travel over my body and lock onto my morning wood and he licks his lips. Oh yes, I wouldn’t say no to getting another one of _those_ blowjobs.

He kisses me and I let him, but when he pulls back a bit, I push on his shoulders in an obvious gesture and he grins at me, fucking grins. At the beginning of last night he could barely bring himself to touch me and now he can’t get enough? Yeah, Kinney, you’re just that good! Shame I won’t benefit from it after today.

After the blowjob, I fuck him up against the shower wall after he goes out to get a condom and some lube. He should just keep them in the shower – I would. Why are people so impractical? But the small interruption doesn’t stop the fuck from being phenomenal. He's just as responsive as he was last night and even though I’m topping, he pushes back against me with every stroke and groans when he comes.

While he's making some breakfast, I look over his place. There's an easel in the corner and some canvasses stacked against the wall. I think the art is pretty good but painting in your home? No thanks. I suppose with the way his apartment looks, it doesn’t make much difference. The things I could do with this place! Money is really wasted on the rich.

He's dressed in a fine suit, I think it’s Hugo Boss, but I’m not completely sure, something way out of my price range anyway. I go and sit at the breakfast bar and start drinking my coffee. I have forty-five minutes to get to school. Mikey had better not forget my uniform. When he puts some toast in front of me, I wolf it down. It will have to last me until lunchtime in the cafeteria.

“Sorry, I don’t have anything else in the house,” he says apologetically.

I shrug without looking up or stopping from shoveling in the food. Debbie’s house isn't far from here. If I hurry, I can catch Michael before school and get changed there. I’m already showered, so that will save time.

“What do you do for a living?” he asks.

Ah, finally, the small talk. Wait a minute! Does he think...? I grin. “I’m in advertising.” Not a complete lie, at least not at the moment. I do have the prospect of a scholarship. Okay, it’s more like pretending and dreaming, but still a little true.

“Really? Me, too. Where do you work?”

Okay, I didn’t expect that. Fuck! “What is this? Twenty questions?”

He stares at me for a few moments and he looks hurt. What did he expect? That we would swap our life stories and exchange phone numbers? Become friends? Boyfriends even? God, the clingy ones are the worst. I don’t feel the need to say anything else. First of all, I never saw him before last night and chances are that I'll never see him again, because he obviously doesn’t frequent the same places as me. And secondly, I can see his eyes cloud over and he smiles, but not at me, to himself. Yeah, he got the message.

He puts his plate and cup in the sink and walks over to a cluttered desk, where he starts packing a briefcase. “I have to leave in ten minutes. I can give you a ride somewhere if you like.” His voice is a little strained and formal now and he’s not looking at me.

“S’alright. I can walk. It’s not far.”

There's a long pause and then he looks at me again and smiles softly. “I don’t mind doing it. And you still have to get changed.”

How the fuck did he work it out suddenly? What gave me away? I frown and now I’m ready to bolt.

“Or are you not working today?”

Relief floods through me, although I’m not sure why. Ten minutes ago, I assumed that he knows that I'm still in high school. Then I was tickled pink that he thinks I'm working. And now I somehow don’t want him to know. His attitude will change and I hate that. I wonder how old he thinks I am.

“Yeah, I’m working today,” I say cooly and get up to rinse my plate and cup in the sink. I turn to look at him. He still has that soft smile on his face and it creeps me out. Is he playing me? “Ready when you are.”

In the car, he doesn’t say anything or ask any more questions. I ask him to drop me a street away from Michael’s house. When I get out, I turn and say thanks for the lift and he smiles again. A huge fucking bright smile. It should be illegal to be this cheerful in the morning, or to have a smile like that.

“Thank _you_ , Brian," he says and I have no idea what he’s thanking me for. I’m not particularly surprised that he remembers my name though. He would. But he’s not finished. “My name's Justin, in case you’re interested.”

“I’m not,” I say truthfully and he smiles that fucking smile again. I shut the car door and as soon as he's pulled away and is a little way off, I start running.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

**PART TWO**

Cynthia makes her way over from where she’s gossiping with Marty’s PA near the kitchenette as soon as she sees me coming out of the elevator. I've just taken a seat behind my desk in my office when she's there, placing a Starbucks coffee in front of me. I don’t know how she does it. No matter whether I’m ten minutes early or fifteen minutes late, she always has a coffee ready for me and it's always hot.

“How was it?” she asks solicitously.

_Fabulous. Exhilarating. Out of this world._ But I’m assuming she’s not asking about my night with Brian. She has worked for me for six years, since I started at Ryder’s, and we’ve been friends for at least four of them. She knows five of my exes personally, but my sex life's not something I would feel comfortable discussing with her. Although she probably wouldn’t mind and, as much as she likes to gossip, I'm certain she wouldn’t talk about it either. Her gossiping is about gathering information, not supplying it.

She must be talking about the funeral then. “Incredibly tedious. Has anything changed in the schedule?” I've been out of the office since Tuesday, mainly to get away from the condolences and to spend time with Mom and Molly. Molly is distraught. Mom, not so much. It’s understandable since my parents have been divorced for a few years now. As for me, other than regretting not coming out to him, I feel strangely unaffected by my father’s death. I hardly ever saw him anyway.

Cynthia shakes her head and starts rattling off everything I need to know for the day, but I’m only half listening. Sitting down reminds me of how sore my ass is and I can’t help smiling about that. I try to imagine what it would be like to have sex like that every night, and fail. That’s for fairy tales or, you know, guys like Brian.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you look incredibly happy, considering your dad just died.”

I look up, remembering where I am, and smile an apology. “Sorry, my mind drifted for a moment there. I had an interesting night.”

“God!” she exclaims. “I wanna be a gay guy, so I can pick up guys at funerals. I’m really missing out here.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I defend myself, embarrassed now. No, it was much, much worse. I went to Babylon after my father’s funeral, got a blowjob from a guy I'd danced with for all of half an hour and then had sex all night with another guy, who isn’t even interested in knowing my name. And I enjoyed every single moment. I have to wonder if Dad has started rotating yet.

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” she smiles. “So, do you need anything before the meeting?”

“Nah, I’ll just drink my coffee and shut my eyes for a minute. Give me a shout at five to?”

“Will do.” She clacks out of the office on her high heels and closes the door.

Despite my tiredness, sitting back and closing my eyes proves difficult. I'm full of nervous energy. I want to run or dance or have sex...preferably with Brian. But failing all of that, I want to tell someone, only, I know that once I start, I won't shut up again anytime soon, so calling Daphne half an hour before the meeting is not such a good idea. It will have to wait till lunchtime.

I stand up and take my coffee over to the window. Outside, it’s the usual morning traffic, toned down to noiseless movements from up here on the fifth floor, but I don’t see it anyway. I don’t see anything but his eyes, on me, undressing me, taking me in, urging me on, praising me. I’ve never seen anybody with such expressive eyes. And the color. Hazel, green, brown, gold, depending on the light and what he’s doing. And how cold they were when he shut down my attempt at conversation over breakfast.

I have to remember that, concentrate on that, because that will stop me from going out tonight, trying to find him again. I know that even if I do find him, he won’t want anything to do with me. This is what he does. Fuck’n’go, my friend Dan calls it, with much disdain. I will have to take it for what is was, the best sex of my life, whack-off material for months, maybe years, to come. And nothing else. It’s over, finished, done. But, oh God, I can still feel his hands and lips on me and his cock inside me.

I feel a hot flush when I remember that I sucked him off, twice, and swallowed, and loved it. And I rimmed him, too. I have never done that to anyone before. Or had it done to me. And it was so... I put my forehead against the cold window pane. Oh God, how am I going to get through the day? Thank God, it’s Friday.

It turns out to be a long day. Luckily, everybody puts my absentmindedness down to my ‘personal loss’ and I can get away with appearing a little unprepared. There are no client meetings today anyway, just a dozen or so phone calls. Unfortunately, Daphne doesn’t have time to talk to me during lunch, but she's happy to meet up with me later. On a whim, I ask her to meet me at Woody’s.

 

I've been to Woody’s a few times before, though not recently. My circle of friends tends to view Liberty Avenue as a cesspool and in some ways I agree. You're unlikely to meet the love of your life here. There's a certain attitude that prevails among these guys with a heavy emphasis on sex and nothing else. I’m more the boyfriend type. I’m looking for someone to share my life with and a few times I thought I found him, but it was always just an illusion. Either we weren’t compatible and I got bored or annoyed or both. Or they were not what they appeared to be. I had to get rid of four of them because they cheated on me. The other relationships just fizzled out without so much as a whimper.

I have this problem. I'm not really attracted to guys who are looking for love. I’m attracted to guys like Brian, the predators and cheats, although I never met anyone quite like him. And now I have a boner in the middle of Woody’s and that can’t be good. A guy comes over and starts chatting to me, offering to buy me a drink and when I decline, he hands me a piece of paper with his phone number ‘in case I change my mind’. He is in no way embarrassed about being turned down. I would slink home with my tail between my legs if someone said ‘no’ to me. And he's already the third one tonight.

When he moves away, Daphne's standing right behind him, grinning like a loon. Unsurprisingly, he ignores her and she slips into the booth.

“You sure you want me here?” she asks. “Looks like you could score big time.”

It is incredibly embarrassing to be queer and have a fag hag who has more promiscuous sex than you. Daphne has guys lining up to take her out, be her boyfriend, even marry her and she chooses to keep sampling the goods. I envy her, not because she can pull - because I know I could do that, too, and tonight is proof of that – no, it’s because she doesn’t care what people think. A few months ago, we were at a party and some ex called her a whore. She just laughed and said, “Whore implies money, I do it for fun. I think the word you’re looking for is slut.”

“I need to talk to you,” I say and push the beer I bought for her earlier over to her.

“Here?” She looks around dubiously, then grins as some dyke from across the room winks her.

“Daphne! Will you concentrate!”

She looks back at me. “Right. Concentrating. Now. What is it?” She becomes more serious. “Was the funeral worse than expected?”

“Screw the funeral. I met a guy.”

She is unimpressed. “Another one? Let me guess. Is he a little boring, but you think it’s not too bad? Has he roaming eyes, but you think he'll change for you? Or maybe he's a little too pedestrian in the sack, but you think that's par for the course?”

I stare at her. Why do I always tell her everything again? Ah yes, so that she can make fun of me because that's so good for my ego. And because she's the only one in my life who doesn’t want me to settle. And I love her, of course. “I had sex for five hours straight last night and we did everything, and I mean absolutely everything. And then we had sex again in the shower this morning.”

“Okaaay,” she says and leans forward a little so she can lower her voice. “When you say everything, what are we talking about? Blowjob, both ways? Rimming, both ways? Fucking, both ways?”

“Daph!” I can feel myself blush and look around furtively, but nobody's paying us any attention. Or they are, but no one’s close enough to overhear.

“Well, did you?”

“Yeah, all of the above. Except I only bottomed.”

“Did you swallow?”

“What?” I can’t believe the questions she’s asking. But her eyebrows come up, prompting me to answer. “Yeah, I did.” I can’t help grinning. It seemed so natural to do that, that I really wanted to.

Now she’s grinning, too. “Now we’re talking. I told you it wasn’t you that’s the problem. You just had sex with the wrong guys. Tell me more.”

So, I do. I don’t leave out any details and I can’t believe how the words come out of my mouth so easily. All my gay friends would be disgusted with me, but Daphne just puts her head close to mine and listens and encourages and asks the odd question when I’m not quite detailed enough.

When I’m done, she sits back a bit and smiles. “I’m not sure if I want to kiss this guy for doing this for you – finally! I may add – or if I want to kick his ass for hurting you.”

“He didn’t do anything wrong. I knew what it was. I didn’t expect us to sail off into the sunset together.”

“So when he said that this morning, you didn’t feel hurt at all?”

“No. Well, maybe. A little.”

One of the staff comes up to our table and puts two beers in front of us, collecting our empty bottles. “Yours is from the bear at the bar,” he says to me. “And yours is from the redhead in the corner.” We both look around to see who he's talking about and Daphne’s redhead is very pretty. Of course, she is. Daphne always attracts the most gorgeous ones, male or female. The bear looks scary. He has at least a hundred pounds on me and is clad all in leather.

But I’m not really paying attention any longer, because I've just spotted Brian standing over by the bar as well, getting some drinks. He’s here with the same little group from last night and he’s looking straight at me while he’s waiting. There's no recognition in his eyes, but he’s not looking away either, just staring. I smile and raise my hand a little and there's no reaction. When the barman puts his drinks on the counter, he turns to pay and walks over to his friends without giving me another glance.

“That him?” Daphne asks.

“Yeah.”

“A bit young, don’t you think? And skinny.”

“What do you mean, young?”

“Justin, he looks at least half a dozen years younger than us. If not more. But if he fucks that good, I suppose he must be older than he looks. Or he’s a natural.”

I watch Brian with his friends as he’s setting up the balls on the pool table. I think they're talking about us, because the two dark-haired ones keep shooting us furtive glances. Only the flamboyant one gives a little wave of recognition. I raise my hand in reply, completely surprised by his gesture. He’s wearing some sort of feather boa today and has some make-up on. It suits him.

The next two hours I spend talking to Daphne and pretending that I’m not watching Brian the whole time. The way he leans over the pool table makes my mouth water and my dick hard. God, I so want to take him home with me, but I know that’s not going to happen. The guys in here are lining up to hit on him and passing him phone numbers. He doesn’t seem to pay much attention, but after just over an hour, he disappears into the bathroom and doesn’t come out for twenty minutes.

I was contemplating following him in there, just to see if he would say hello if he met me close up, but I’m glad I didn’t go. I don’t need the humiliation of him completely blanking me or the embarrassment of watching him fuck another guy. I know I’m jealous and scold myself for it. Story of my life, always attracted to the wrong guy, one way or another. Daphne puts her hand on mine and squeezes just once. Yeah, I love you, too, Daph.

When Daphne decides to go, I know I should just go home as well, but Brian’s still here and I can’t seem to tear myself away. I really am a hopeless case. I sit there, nursing my drink and Brian and his group are making moves to leave, so I prepare to do the same. Might as well go home and wallow in my misery. Or paint.

Just then, my view is blocked by someone standing next to me and when I look up, it’s the bear from earlier. Shit! I shouldn’t have accepted his drink. Now he will want remuneration. Or maybe it would be worse if I had rejected it. He might be really mad then. I remind myself again that I should never go to places where I don’t know the etiquette.

He's very pleasant actually, but extremely persistent, inviting me to come along to the Meathook – yeah, right, that's so my scene – or to a private party, _very_ private, at his home. I practice a dozen ways of saying ‘no, thank you’ and wish I could just get out of here, but there's no way I can squeeze past him if he doesn’t move.

Suddenly, I hear someone say my name. I look up and the tall guy from Brian’s group is standing there, smiling a beautiful disarming smile. He has put on some furry jacket that, apart from coming barely to his midriff, clashes horribly with his boa. “Are you still coming to Babylon with us, sweetie?” he asks, as if we had plans all along.

I’m out of my seat in seconds when the bear steps to one side to examine the new arrival.

“Of course,” I say, a little too fast. Then I shrug apologetically at the bear and Brian’s friend puts his arm over my shoulders, pulling me away.

“Bart's harmless,” he says. “But he can be very insistent. I’m Emmett, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Emmett, and thank you.”

“You’re welcome. So are you coming to Babylon with us?”

“Uhm...” I don’t want Brian to think that I’m stalking him. But I also don’t want to miss this opportunity to be near him. At the very least, he must have told Emmett my name, so he could come and rescue me.

“Ah, come on, the night's still young and it will piss Brian off. That’s always a bonus.”

That doesn’t exactly make me feel better and when we get to the door, where his friends are waiting, it's obvious that Brian is none too pleased, although it manifests itself mainly in ignoring me. Michael tries to kill me with his looks when Emmett introduces us, but Ted's a lot nicer and shakes my hand, which I find a bit odd.

On the way to Babylon, Brian and Michael walk in front by quite a bit and Brian has his arm around Michael’s shoulders again. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but they're laughing a lot.

“What’s with those two?” I ask and I don’t quite manage to sound as casual as I would like. “Are they a couple?”

Both Emmett and Ted burst out laughing, which causes Brian to turn around and glare at them.

“Michael likes to think so, but no,” Emmett says, after grinning at Brian. “They're just best friends. Brian's not the boyfriend type.”

“But Michael's just a kid.” It comes out before I can stop it and I see Emmett and Ted exchange a glance and Ted shaking his head warningly, just the once. I’m obviously missing something here, but I know they won’t tell me. Whatever issues Emmett’s initial comment about Brian may imply, loyalty is stronger than the fun of spreading gossip to a stranger.

“So Brian went home with you last night,” Emmett says, putting his arm back over my shoulders. I don’t mind. He smells really nice. “Is he really as good as they say?” And just like that I’m back in my bed last night, getting fucked into the mattress. Damn, I want to have that again, badly.

“Better,” I admit and I don’t care if it makes me sound like a dreamy-eyed schoolboy.

“Fuck,” Ted says with feeling.

Emmett just laughs.

At Babylon, they pull me to the front of the line and the bouncer lets Brian, Michael and Emmett in without checking their ID or pay. Ted and I have to pay, but at least we didn’t have to wait in line. I’m a bit annoyed though, when he checks my ID because I’m pretty convinced that I’m the oldest in the group. It’s not fair.

We all meet up at the bar. Ted is buying drinks for the others and I buy my own. Of course, I get carded again.

“Pretty convincing ID,” Ted says, glancing at it, as he pays for his drinks. I just nod. How old do these guys think I am? Come to think of it, how old are _they_? But I remember earlier and don’t bother asking.

The other three give Ted some money and I wonder if he’s the ‘drinks guy’ that people only hang out with because he’s old enough to get served. Well, apart from Brian, of course, who could get his own drinks. But Michael and Emmett are pretty affectionate with Ted, while Brian pretends he doesn’t exist. Actually, Brian is now pretending that none of them exist, as he’s vetting the guys around him. He has yet to say one word to me.

Emmett drags me onto the dance floor and we spend a few songs dancing until I feel the need for some water. Brian has stayed by the bar with Michael and Ted is now coming out to dance with Emmett. When I come up to the bar, Brian pulls away and hones in on his prey. It’s some guy about my age and he’s pretty buff and almost as tall as Brian. I watch in fascination as they spend no more than half a song grinding together before Brian drags him off to the backroom by his belt loop.

Ouch, that hurts. Expecting it, knowing that this is what he does every night and witnessing it are two completely different things. I turn away to order some water and notice that Michael doesn’t seem any more pleased than I am. He scowls at me when he sees me looking.

“He’s never gonna fuck you again, you know,” he says, shouting over the music. Thanks, buddy, I’ve worked that one out all by myself, what, with him ignoring me all evening, and all.

“Is that what happened to you?” I shout back, just because I’m hurt and he's being mean.

“Me? No, Brian and I are best friends. You don’t fuck your friends. Friendship's worth more than fucking.”

True maybe, but also spoken like a true virgin. I laugh a little. “So, you’re pissed, not because he fucked you and then dumped you, but because he never fucked you in the first place.” God, I’m mean tonight! This whole situation is really getting to me. _Go home, Taylor!_ Michael glares at me and stomps off. Instantly, I regret what I said. It was unkind and unnecessary and he’s just a kid. I know a thing or two about fancying unavailable guys, so I do feel sorry for him. I shouldn’t have let my bad mood run away with my mouth.

The barman puts my water on the counter and I take a deep drink. I’m not really in the mood for the backroom tonight – yesterday was definitely a one-off – and I feel kind of sick from being so close to Brian and yet so far away. It hurts and I’m not a masochist. Michael has started dancing with Ted, who's telling him some story with lots of arm movements and a big smile on his face. Emmett has disappeared somewhere. If he didn’t look so terribly young, I would guess the back room. And Brian is just returning from there. Alone, of course. God help him, if he had to actually have a conversation with a guy he’s had sex with.

I smile to myself. I'm an idiot and I will never learn. But that doesn’t mean that I have to parade my stupidity in front of everyone like Michael does. I have at least ten years on that kid and I should be a little more mature.

I put my almost empty bottle back onto the bar and make my way to the exit before Brian is anywhere near me.

 

*******

 

I catch Michael just before he leaves the house and dash upstairs with my school clothes to get changed. It’s lucky that I have so much experience with fast undressing and dressing that I’m back downstairs and out the house before Debbie can start on a lecture. She just has time for an admonishing look.

Michael is grumpy this morning.

“Where were you all night?”

“Where do you think?”

“Since when do you stay over at some guy’s house? You know how dangerous that is?”

“I’m a big boy, Mikey, and he was pretty good. Nearly wore me out.”

“Wore you out? Since when does anybody wear _you_ out? He was just a twink.”

“I said nearly.”

I’m not even sure if the guy _is_ a twink. He looks pretty young, but he has that cool loft and the jeep and a job, so I’m thinking he’s probably a little older than he looks. Not very experienced though. I’d say I have more experience than he has, but he was oh so keen to learn and a quick study, too. And his blowjobs... I try to think about something else because I don’t wanna go to school with a boner. That’s bound to set the jocks on me.

Thank God, it’s the last day of school before the summer vacation. Not that I will have a lot of vacation time, but I don’t mind that. It’ll get me out of the house, while Jack has some time off, and it’ll give me money, too. Better not let the parents know how much money or they’ll get ideas about me chipping in for my keep.

Mr. Simmons stops me after the last lesson and tells me – again – how important it is that I keep up my studies over the summer and behave myself. He’s always pulling strings for me and then he gives me lectures on how I should show my appreciation by working extra hard. Like I’m gonna fuck it up. University is my ticket out of here and there's no way I will not get the required references. I already have the grades for a scholarship. Just one more year and I’m gone.

I dawdle on the way home, but I’m in luck. Nobody’s home. Mom’s probably at that church thing and Jack won’t be home until all the money in his pocket is gone. Friday night is bowling night. My dinner is on the counter and I warm it up without getting changed. Then I eat in front of the TV. Sometimes, I miss Claire. She can be a cunt, but it’s very quiet since she got married.

I get to Michael’s at around seven, bringing my overnight stuff. Damn, Debbie's still here and, predictably, she gives me a lecture on the dangers of staying out all night with strange men. I know she's not really worried about me, she's more worried about Michael following my example. Debbie is nice when things are tough. She likes patching me up and she can even be caring towards me when she feels sorry for me. But mostly, she just worries about Michael and wishes he would make better choices with his friends. Just how many choices does she think Michael has?

But at least she insists on feeding us before she leaves for the diner. Her food is always better than the food at home. Sometimes I wonder if it only feels like that – because Mom is not really a terrible cook – or if it’s just because here there's always company for dinner, and pleasant company at that. Michael has rented a couple of DVDs which we pretend we'll be watching tonight. Debbie can’t really be that naive, but she goes along with it. Maybe it’s wishful thinking.  

We actually do watch one of the DVDs because it’s too early for Woody’s yet. It’s some horror flick and it’s pretty poor. At least, Michael seems to have perked up a bit. Good, I hate it when he’s sulking.

Ted and Emmett meet us outside Woody’s and when we make our way inside, I see him as soon as I take a look around. You can’t miss that blond hair. He’s in deep conversation with some girl with frizzy hair and he's smiling a lot.

“Told you he had a wife,” Ted says triumphantly.

“Well, I can personally vouch for him being gay,” I say in a bored voice.

“If you carry on the way you’re going, you'll be able to personally vouch for all of Liberty Avenue soon.”

“I can promise you that I'll never be able to personally vouch for _you_.”

He pulls a face as if that's the most disgusting thing he can imagine and I just grin. As if he would say no, and he knows it. I get the first round of drinks because I actually get served in Woody’s. It helps that the barman wants to get into my pants. While I wait, I watch Justin. What is he doing here? I wasn't expecting to ever see him again. If he came here a lot, I would have seen him before. Maybe he just moved here, but his place has a very lived-in feel about it.

And who is she? Not his wife. There was no room for anyone else at his place and he's definitely gay, not even a sliver of doubt about that. And why do I care again? Ah yes, because if this is not his usual hunting ground, then that means he’s here because of me. Great, another one of those who don’t get it. Wasn’t I clear this morning?

He looks up at Paul, who's bringing them a beer each and then over to some dyke in the corner, then he’s looking my way. First at Bart, who grins at him, then his eyes find me. He smiles that bright smile again and raises his hand in greeting. I decide to ignore him, pointedly, by staring at him as if I’ve never seen him before. That often works better than not looking. His smile dims a little, but he doesn’t look away until I turn to get the drinks.

We play pool for a long time and I follow some guy, who gives me the come-on, into the bathroom for a very satisfactory fuck. I’m kinda hoping that when I leave the stall, Justin will be there to see it, but he’s still at the table, talking to the girl, when I come out.

I don’t look at him all night and after a couple of questions in the beginning, the guys forget all about him, too. I notice the girl leaving though, but I know he won’t be on his own for long. He really is very beautiful and he has that innocent thing going that draws queers in droves. Maybe that's his thing, maybe he was playing me last night and he isn’t really innocent at all. He certainly picked up the pace pretty quickly. I’m a bit mad about that now. I don’t like being played.

I suggest Babylon and we all walk towards the door when Emmett touches my arm and nods towards Justin. Bart has planted himself in front of him and is trying to talk him into something that's really not too hard to guess. Justin looks a little rattled, but seems to stick with talking his way out of it. Not gonna work with Bart. You have to be pretty firm with him. A heartfelt ‘fuck off’ did it for me.

“We should rescue him,” Emmett says.

“How is he anything to do with us?” Michael shoots back, a little annoyed.

“He’s new here.” Emmett looks at me and I know he’s telling me that I should do something because I ‘know’ the guy. Emmett is one of those people who think that fucking means something. I think he’s on talking terms with every guy he’s ever fucked.

I shrug. “Bart’s harmless.”

“Yeah, if you know how to handle him. What’s his name?”

“How would Brian know?” Michael answers for me and I hate that. We’ve been friends for over three years and he still doesn’t know how much I hate that?

“Justin,” I say, more to spite Mikey than anything else. Normally, I don’t know guys’ names or, if I do, I won’t admit it. I only admit it this time to contradict him.

Emmett skips away on his rescue mission and I can feel both Michael’s and Ted’s gazes on me, so I’m keeping an eye on how things are going. Better than slugging it out with these two and Emmett might need some help because he’s not the sharpest tool in the box. When he comes back with his arm over Justin’s shoulders, I go back to ignoring him. Michael's being a rude little shit – what’s his problem? – and Ted makes a complete idiot of himself by shaking Justin’s hand. By the look on Justin’s face, he has the same thoughts as I have on that score. I don’t think Ted will get laid anytime soon. Or ever.

On our way to Babylon, I pull Mikey ahead with me. I can’t hear what the others are saying, but when Emmett and Ted burst out laughing, I just know they're talking about me. So I glare at them over my shoulder.

Justin gets carded at Babylon, which I find most amusing since he’s probably the oldest in the group, or maybe the same age as Ted, yet we all get in without any problems. Ted gets us drinks and we pay him back. The barmen at Babylon don’t serve us because their boss, commonly known as the Sap, is very meticulous about these things. Never mind that he likes sucking off under-aged boys, as long as they don’t get served alcohol, all is well in his world. Sleazebag. And he’s so ancient, at least forty. Disgusting.

Emmett drags Justin off to dance and Ted follows a little while later. Michael, of course, sticks to me like glue. Sometimes I wonder if he’s scared at Babylon when I’m not by his side. Well, he’d better get used to it because I’m not here to babysit. When Justin starts making his way back to the bar, I go out to dance with some guy who’s been cruising me. We come to an agreement pretty quickly and I drag him to the backroom. He's keen to give me a blowjob and who am I to stop him? It’s always good to start the evening slow.

Unfortunately, he’s not particularly good at it, but it gets me off and the night is young. When I leave the backroom, I pass Emmett, who’s on the way in with some very buff gym bunny. He grins at me and I just roll my eyes. Emmett scores almost as much as I do and if he’s not careful, he’ll need a new asshole by the time he’s thirty.

I spot Mikey dancing with Ted as soon as I get back into the main club. How do they ever expect to get laid if they’re always together? Unless they fuck each other and that's just too gross to contemplate. Justin is still alone at the bar, which surprises me since he’s been cruised heavily all evening. Only, he pretends not to notice.

He looks at me and then he smiles that smile again. Not the bright one that makes you want to smile back, no, this is that small one that he had this morning, the one that's for just himself and shuts you out. And then I see him cross the room. At first, I think he's going to dance so that he doesn’t have to suffer through me ignoring him again, but he never stops and slips out the door. The little shit! After we rescued him from Bart, he could at least say goodbye. Emmett will be disappointed.

I take position at the bar and have no desire to leave for the rest of the evening. Drinks appear in front of me, bought for by different guys who are hoping that they'll get lucky. I drink them, but I tell anybody approaching me to fuck off. I don’t fuck for drinks.

Emmett has a go at me for chasing Justin away. When I point out to him that I didn’t even talk to the guy and he just says, “Exactly,” and goes off to dance. I knew he would like Justin. The guy has just that little bit of innocence that appeals to him. Well, he can have him for all I care. I’m done with him. I don’t do encores. Where would be the fun in that when there are so many fuckable guys out there?

My mood doesn’t exactly improve with Emmett glaring at me all night. Ted sides with him, of course. Only Mikey is happy because I’m staying at the bar and he can hang with me. He chats away, but I mainly don’t listen. This night is a complete wash.

It’s only one in the morning when I decide to leave, which means that Mikey will leave, which means that we all leave. I’m pretty drunk and it’s too early to go home for a Friday night, so when we get outside I'm even more annoyed that my night is ruined.

“Brian, this way,” Mikey says, laughing when I turn left where we should be going right.

“I have something to do. I’ll be home later.”

“What? Where are you going?”

I just raise my hand in goodbye and walk on. For a bit, I can hear them discussing what they should do. Mikey's all concerned and wants to force me to come home with him. Emmett thinks I had too much to drink but doesn’t want to start a fight with me and Ted, naturally, says I can sleep in a ditch for all he cares, which draws the wrath of both, Emmett and Michael. They're still there when I turn the corner.

I'm in luck because, just as I arrive, a guy exits the building and I manage to catch the door before it shuts. I take the stairs, being too buzzed to wait for the elevator, and when I get to the top, I bang on the metal door. I must admit I like everything about this place. The door is a nice touch. Makes a lot of noise, too, when you bang it.

And then he's standing in front of me and his eyes widen when he realizes who it is. I can see straight away that he hasn’t been to bed yet. Several lights are on, but he's only wearing sweatpants and his hands are covered in some black stuff that he starts wiping nervously on his pants, leaving dark marks everywhere.

“Brian,” he says with a weird hitch in his voice and he smiles that huge grin that he has.

“You were very rude to Emmett.”

His smile falters. “I was?”

“He helped you out in Woody’s and you just left.”

“I’m surprised you noticed,” he says cattily. “Tell Emmett I’m sorry. I had to go home.”

“Really?” I step forward and he steps back to let me pass. “So what was so urgent that you couldn’t say goodbye?”

“I just had to go, okay? Why do you care?”

“I don’t. But Emmett was upset.” Which is true, although he was more upset with me than Justin for some reason.

He looks like he’s confused or amused or something. God, he really has the most amazing eyes. And all that pale skin. There's a small streak of black just left of his nipple. Without thinking, I run my thumb over it to wipe it away. It offends my aesthetic sensibility. Skin like his shouldn’t be blemished. But it won’t come off completely, so I lick my thumb and wipe it some more. He gasps a little and his chest rises and falls rapidly now. When I look down, his sweatpants are tented by his hard-on.

“Take ‘em off,” I demand.

He gives the door a good push to shut it and obeys. After he straightens up again, I run my eyes up and down his body while he remains totally still. He's perfectly shaped, all even proportions and, although a little short, he's breathtakingly beautiful. Even his cock's beautiful and quite big for his height. I walk around him and look at his ass, the curve of it, the perfect globes. When I run my finger lightly over his crack, he shivers.

“Brian,” he murmurs and there's something in his voice, some emotion that I can’t place, but it makes me want to fuck the shit out of him.

“Please,” he says in the same tone.

“Go and lie on the bed.”

He follows my order without hesitation and I follow him and get undressed while he’s watching me. I'm as hard as I’ve ever been and I know we'll have a few rounds tonight, long, drawn-out, glorious rounds of fucking and sucking, but there's something else I need. I can’t quite put my finger on it. I want to see him writhe and beg and plead. I want to watch his eyes as he comes over and over again, but there's something else. It’s not until hours later, when he comes for the last time, that I know what it is.

“Brian,” he moans in that same tone that he had before and I recognize it now. It’s yearning, pure and simple. That. That just there. That's what I was waiting for. Nobody’s ever said my name like that before. 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

**PART THREE**

When Brian turns up on my doorstep in the middle of the night, I don’t know what to make of it. But we very quickly get down to business and who cares what his motivation is as long as he makes me scream in ecstasy. Okay, so maybe not scream, but he does make me moan and groan louder than I ever have with anyone else. And he likes to talk, to tell me what he’s going to do to me and it’s never cheesy, just an incredible turn on. He also likes to make _me_ talk, so I beg and plead, first because it turns him on – and me – then because I can’t help myself. And then, just before I pass out after the last orgasm, I moan out his name, wishing that this would never stop, that he was my lover and not just some guy who has a momentary itch that I can scratch for him.

I wake up when I hear the door shut. There is really no sneaking out of the loft. For a little while I’m hoping that he’s just gone for cigarettes or something, but I know that I’m deluding myself. He got what he came for and then he left. What did I expect? Expect? Nothing. Hope? That he would have wanted to stay and spend a leisurely morning with me. It’s Saturday after all.

I get up to go to the toilet and then I become aware of the stale smell of cigarettes. I don’t usually allow people to smoke in my loft, but I don’t mind too much. Brian always smells and tastes a little of cigarettes and it's as if he’s still here. He moved one of the candles on the coffee table and used the glass holder as an ashtray. I count three cigarette ends, so he must have spent quite a bit of time here while I was asleep.

I cringe when I realize that he also looked through my sketchbook. When he turned up, I was just working on a charcoal rendering of him. It's large and detailed and leaves none of his assets to the imagination. God, how embarrassing!

When it's light enough, I start painting and I don’t really stop all weekend. I ignore the phone and just lose myself in my art. It’s an abstract of Brian drinking, just the detail of his throat, but if you don’t know, then you wouldn’t be able to recognize it.I crash for a few hours on Saturday night, all the while telling myself that I’m not waiting for him to turn up again. Because he won’t. I know that. He’s out somewhere, fucking someone new. And he won’t be thinking about me. I know that.I _do_.

Daphne arrives on Sunday evening. She's been working all weekend – that’s why she had to leave early on Friday – and she brings pizza. It makes me realize suddenly that I haven’t eaten all day and I’m famished. She looks at my painting, while supporting a huge slice of pizza with both hands. I don’t know where she leaves all that food that she gobbles down. She looks the same as she did in high school, only more beautiful.

“Looks cool,” she says and puts her head sideways for a different angle. “Kind of sad and full of longing.”

Daphne has no clue about art, but she can always spot my moods in my paintings. It’s uncanny.

“Daph?”

“Hhm?” She is still engrossed in the picture.

“Do you ever go back for seconds?”

“Second what?”

And I lose my bottle completely. I feel like a high school girl, gossiping with her BFF about what it means that the guy she fancies pulled her pigtails. Only, Brian pulled something else entirely.“Nothing. Never mind.”

She turns and looks at me for a while.Daphne rarely pries.She doesn’t have to because I’m always quite happy to spill the beans.

“Brian came by Friday night.”

“And?”

“And we had incredible sex. Again. And then he sneaked out in the early hours of the morning.”

“Maybe he had to go home. Didn’t you say that he's staying with that friend of his? Michael?”

“Daph. I have yet to have a conversation with him.”

She frowns at me for a while. Then she seems to remember my question. “I go back for seconds if the sex is worth it. Or if the guy's really sweet and the sex is good enough.”

“That can’t be it. The sex is great because of him.Otherwise I would have great sex all the time. And if it’s great because of him, then he can have that with anybody. And I’m not sweet.”

“Justin, how many boyfriends have told you that you're too focused on sex? That you want things they can’t even contemplate? Maybe you just found the right guy. Someone, who thinks sex is fun and should be down and dirty. And it’s about time, too. You‘ve just always gone out with the wrong guys, who thought that rimming is as bad as fucking a goat or necrophilia or something. Believe me, I’ve met plenty of those as well. You like sex. And now there’s someone who doesn’t think you’re a slut because of it. Of course, you’re suddenly good at it. It’s what you always wanted.” 

Daphne has a strange talent to put things into perspective for me, probably because she knows me so well. “So, he came back because of the sex?”

“Unlikely. He’s a guy. He can have that anywhere.”

“Huh?”

“Why do you think I have so many one-night-stands? ...Because I want things from a guy that most guys are happy to provide, but then they think I’m a nymphomaniac or a slut and they treat me as such. Believe me, when I find a guy who can be sweet during the day and an animal in bed, I'm not letting him go. But Brian is a guy. Having a lot of sex, and really dirty sex at that, is okay for him.Most guys think that’s great – in a guy. It’s just that all your boyfriends were repressed and anal. And not in a good way.”

“So...?”

“So, Brian likes having sex with you. And it doesn’t hurt that you’re easy on the eye. And coming back for more may mean that he likes you as well.”

I can’t help smiling at that. That gives me a little hope, not much, just a glimmer.

“Or maybe it’s just because you have your own place.”

I groan and put a cushion over my face.

 

On Monday morning, I feel a bit better. Painting always does that to me. It seems to calm me down and put my emotions into the right order. The painting of Brian turned out rather exquisite, too. And Daphne coming over helped. I can always rely on Daphne to tell it like it is. No sugar-coating. She and Brian seem like kindred spirits to me, but maybe that's just wishful thinking, because Daphne is a wonderful person, despite her sometimes brash behavior, and she loves me. I’m also kind of proud of myself that I didn’t go looking for him the past two nights. I’m not going to behave like a lovesick teenager. That’s good. That’s progress.

Cynthia plops my coffee on my desk and I look up, a little surprised, because I can feel her anger radiating from her. “What’s up with you?”

“Marty is up with me. That’s what.”

“What has he done now?” In general, Cynthia doesn’t get upset about anything Marty does, because he's the boss and he doesn’t normally bother to interfere in the admins’ work. If she does get upset, it’s usually because she thinks that Marty is treating me unfairly, which, truth be told, he doesn’t really do, but she likes to be outraged on my behalf all the same.

“He’s lumbered me with an intern.”

“You?Why?” I have to suppress a snicker. Cynthia never had an intern before. The interns usually work in the Art Department or with the account managers, as they're all third year students from Carnegie Mellon, or occasionally from other places, like PIFA or Pitt. Which reminds me that today is the day that the internships start and I'll have some guy called Steven shadowing me for two days a week between now and Christmas. I don’t usually mind, but I'm so not in the mood today.

“Marty's doing some of his friends a favor this year. He’s given me this high school girl, who wants to become a PA. For six weeks! She’s the daughter of one of his buddies.”

“Ouch!” I have to laugh a little. “Try not to eat her.”

She gives me a smile halfway between annoyed and amused. “Yeah, well, Marty also has a buddy who's a teacher and this buddy wants one of his pupils to get a scholarship, for which he needs an internship. Apparently, this kid is really smart, but the only way he can get in is if he gets a glowing reference from us.”

I know from her toothy grin that I won’t like what’s coming next. “Don’t tell me,” I groan, but I just know that I'll be the one to chaperone this geek about.

Cynthia just grins.

“How long for?”

“Six weeks.”

“Six weeks?”

“Every single day.But at least that Stephen guy will now work with Savannah.”

Marty really has outdone himself this time. I don’t usually have a problem with him and I can understand his thinking.Because he’s doing his friends a favor, he wants to give these kids a worthwhile experience, so he’s choosing the best positions. Cynthia is the best PA, even better than his own, and he doesn’t want the daughter of someone he’s friends with too closely involved with his own business anyway, so his PA wouldn’t be a good idea. And, of course, he doesn’t want some kid trailing him either, so he chooses the next best thing: me. Serves me right for being nice to the interns in the past. I always score the highest points on the evaluations. No good deed goes unpunished.

“When you say high school student...?”

She shuffles her papers and makes a quick calculation. “He’s seventeen and a bit.He must be starting his last year after the summer. And his name is...” She leaves back to the front of her file to find it.

“Brian Kinney.”

The voice from the door goes through me like an electric shock. I know that voice, but I only remember it saying things like, ‘Suck my cock’ and ‘Spread yourself for me.’ Oh no, it can’t be! But when I look up, there he is, standing in the doorway and smirking at me.Then he collects himself and gives Cynthia his most charming smile.

“Sorry to barge in. I was told I would find Ms Cynthia Moore and Mr. Justin Taylor here. Your secretary said to go right in.”

“I’ll kill her,” Cynthia mutters to herself, but I can see that she likes Brian. Who wouldn’t when he’s smiling that smile? “Well, since you’re here, why don’t you come right in? This is Mr. Taylor, you'll be interning under him.”

Brian’s eyes sparkle and he pulls in his lips to avoid laughing. I close my eyes for just a second at her unfortunate turn of phrase.For a few moments, all I can think is that he will be here every day for six weeks and I can’t decide whether I want to dance with joy or slit my wrists. Then, I realize that there's no way he can intern with _me_. It just wouldn’t be appropriate and his reference wouldn’t be worth the paper it’s printed on.

And then it really hits me!

Oh my God! I had sex with a high school kid! Twice! Fuck! I can’t believe I did that. And I never suspected a thing. How could I when he fucks better than guys twice his age? Much better.But he’s in high school! How old did Cynthia say he was? Seventeen.Seventeen is good. At least, he’s legal and I won’t go to prison over this. He’s in high school! I can’t believe that! He can’t be in high school! He looks older. But then I remember his expression when he was unguarded, looking at my car and later my loft and I know it’s true. I really did sleep with a seventeen-year-old kid. I am so going to hell.

He shakes my hand and smirks, which he can do because Cynthia is now standing a little behind him. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Taylor.”

“Yeah,” I say and add belatedly, “You too.”

He can’t intern with me. It’s not right. But how do I explain why he can’t? I can hardly say, _excuse me, Marty, but I just spent two nights being fucked six ways from Sunday by this kid you sent me, so he should really intern with someone else, preferably another agency._ I would never live it down. I would forever be considered a pedophile at work. And how could Brian possibly get a fair reference after that from any of my colleagues? It could ruin his chances of a scholarship and that, in turn, could ruin his whole life. _Yeah, let’s go with that. Convince yourself that you’re doing it for him and not because you’re a coward._

“Would you give us a minute, Cyn?” I croak out.

She looks a little confused and then nods and leaves, no doubt to ream out her new intern because Cynthia doesn’t have a secretary and the only person who could have told Brian to come right in is this new girl. I try to spare a thought for the poor unfortunate thing, but it’s impossible because my head is full of ‘oh my God!’ and ‘fuck, what now?’.

“Shut the door,” I say to Brian because there's no way I want anyone to listen in on this particular conversation.

“Yes, Sir.” Brian grins and obeys. Then he sits down.

His words go straight to my dick and I’m glad I’m sitting down.“You’re seventeen?” I still can’t believe that, but now it makes more sense that he’s hanging out with a bunch of kids.

“Says so on my birth certificate.” He’s enjoying this a little too much. “Of course, my ID says twenty-one.”

“And you didn’t feel like mentioning this?”

“You never asked. Don’t worry. I’m legal.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“You can’t be my intern, Brian. If it comes out, I'll lose my job and your internship will be screwed.”

“Justin.” This is the first time he's using my name and I shouldn’t be so insanely pleased that he even remembers it. “I need this internship. I have a scholarship lined up due to my grades, but I won’t get it without this. I have to do well. I won’t say anything and nobody will ever know.”

“It’s never going to work.” I rub my forehead in despair. “We will slip up and someone will find out and then we’re both screwed.”

“I thought you like getting screwed.” He's smirking again.

I glare at him. “This is exactly what I mean. The odd remark.The odd look or gesture. Someone will take notice.If I tell now, there won’t be any repercussions.”

“For _you_!” he says heatedly. “You'll be a little embarrassed because your colleagues will gossip about your sex life for a bit. But I will either get a guy who views me as some boy toy with no brain or he's a homophobe and hates my guts on sight. Or I will have to find another internship. You have no idea how hard it was to find this one. If my teacher didn’t know your boss, I wouldn’t be here. I _need_ this internship!”

I don’t say anything. I do know how hard it is to get an internship. There are five candidates for every one of our vacancies every year. The likelihood of Brian getting a position at another agency this late in the day are non-existent. And I don’t trust my colleagues to be fair to him. Even if I swear Marty to secrecy and he adheres to it, everybody will still wonder why I refused to work with Brian and view him with suspicion. And then there's the little fact that I will die of embarrassment even just telling Marty. I've always been extremely private at work. Half the people here are not even sure that I’m gay, although I've certainly never denied it.

“Justin,” Brian says and his voice rumbles a little and I somehow hear it from behind me, even though he's still in his seat.I’m back at home and he’s spurring me on to come, his chin between my shoulder blades, his breath hot on my neck. Oh God, what am I going to do? I daren’t look at him, but then he speaks again and I know I will do whatever he wants, because he says just one word.

“ _Please_.”

 

*******

 

It takes me under half an hour to walk from Justin’s loft to Michael’s house. Fuller is just on the outer edges of the gay district and Debbie lives on the opposite side. The streets are deserted. I'm wondering why I didn’t just crash at Justin’s, but that would make it two nights in a row and that wouldn’t be good. I can’t believe I fucked the guy two nights in a row either. That’s never happened before.

Why did I go there again last night? Ah yes, because I was angry, and very drunk. Now that I’ve sobered up, I can’t really remember what I was angry about. I thought he was playing me with his innocent act. No guy who fucks like that is innocent. And then he upset Emmett and that’s just not right, because... because... because what? It’s not as if I don’t do it all the time.

Okay, so maybe there’s another reason I went there. The fucking is good. He's so responsive, all that moaning and groaning, the way he arches into my every touch and that he can come so many times. He’s the only one I’ve met so far who can keep up with me. But it’s not even that. It’s that he does everything I tell him to, but he doesn’t really submit. He gives me control, but only because he wants to. There's always that core of him that is in total control.

So that just means that he's enjoying every fucking second of it. And that is rare. I've fucked a lot of guys already and I’m planning on fucking a lot more in the future, but it's usually short, a quick fuck in the backroom or a few times I went home with a guy and we had a couple of rounds on a bed. But nobody seems to enjoy it as much as I do. I love the chase, the build-up, and then everything from the first touch to the last.Most guys just want to get off and they only want to do what gets them there the quickest. I don’t. Well, I do want to get off, but I love everything that comes before that, too. I like to draw things out, to tease, to explore.Justin is the first one I met who seems to feel the same way.

It’s like having really good drugs, kind of addictive. And I’d better kick that habit real fast.

Michael is apparently sulking because he hasn’t left the window open and he’s not answering when I throw a few pebbles against it. No use knocking on the door and waking up the whole neighborhood then.So I sit on his porch and smoke. Fifteen minutes before his mother is due home, he opens the door for me. Good old Mikey, I knew he would.

“Where the fuck have you been? I was worried sick.”

“Just had to see a guy I met at Babylon.”

“What guy? You didn’t speak to anyone last night.”

“What is this? The third degree? You’re not my mother or my wife. It was just a guy. Okay?”

He grumbles something to himself, but I’m no longer listening. I stumble upstairs and pass out on his bed in my clothes. When I wake up, it’s the afternoon and Mikey is squashed against me and Debbie is shouting for us to come and get something to eat.

The evening passes pretty much like the one before, with pool at Woody’s and then a few hours at Babylon. I fuck three different guys and they’re all pretty good. This is how it should be. And this time I actually go home with Michael, which seems to console him with the two nights before.

In the morning, I'm awake before him and I stare at the ceiling from my makeshift bed on the floor. I often dream that my parents will move away and leave me here to finish my education and I can stay with Debbie and Michael. Or, when I’m really pissed off, I dream that my parents have a nasty accident and I can stay with Debbie and Michael. Sunday mornings are the best because the house smells of waffles and pancakes and fresh bread.

But today, my thoughts seem to stray a lot.Justin wasn’t there last night, at Woody’s, I mean. I kind of expected him to be.He’s stalking me, isn’t he? What kind of a stalker gives up after one night? Or maybe he’s had enough already. Why wouldn’t he? Apart from Michael, most people just put up with me because I refuse to slink away. My parents, Debbie, Ted and Emmett, people at school. And that’s just the way I like it.I don’t want to lumber myself with lots of friends or even family because I don’t intend to stick around. When I get out of here and get to New York, I will never look back and, apart from Michael, I won’t miss a fucking soul. And knowing Michael, he'll follow me somehow anyway.

When I get home in the afternoon, Claire's there. I can see from the way she's huddled in the armchair with a blanket while she's watching TV that this is not just a Sunday afternoon visit. Out of habit, I give her a quick once-over, but there are no visible bruises.

“Where have you been since Friday?” she asks.

“Michael’s.Mom knew.”

“You know Mom doesn’t like that Novotny woman.”

“I’m not hanging out with that Novotny woman. I’m hanging out with her son.”

“Brian, nobody believes that that kid is so smart that he’s helping you with your schoolwork all the time.”

I shrug and turn to go upstairs. Who cares what they think as long as they're not stopping me?

“Brian.”

I look back at her.

“Can you babysit John for an hour tomorrow? I have to go to the doctor’s.”

I give her another check-over to see if I have missed any injuries and she pulls the blanket up a bit more in embarrassment. Claire and I never talk about this, not the bruises sustained in this house and not the ones she gets in her own.

“I’m pregnant,” she says a little heatedly.

Jeez, why do people do this to themselves? She already has one kid, who isn’t even out of diapers yet, and surely she must have realized by now that her marriage isn’t working. I don’t get it. I’m working my ass off to escape from here and she just walks right into a copy of her parents’ marriage from hell.

“So why are you here?”

“Tom isn’t too thrilled about it.”

Yeah, _exact_ copy.

“I’m starting my internship tomorrow. I’ll be out all day.”

She sighs and nods. “Okay.”

I turn to leave again and she calls me back once more.

“What?” I don’t wanna deal with this.I probably have the most depressing family on the planet and I just want to ignore what I can, endure what I must and leave as soon as I'm able.

“Just keep out of trouble for another year. With your grades, you can do anything. Just be careful, is all I’m saying.”

Sometimes I want to tell her to get out of here, too. Out of her marriage, out of this family, out of this town.I did once, before she got married, but she didn’t want to know. She was too focused on getting out of this house and Tom was her ticket.And now she has a kid and one on the way and is well and truly fucked.I just nod and go upstairs to shower and change.

Later, I hear Mom come in and start the dinner. My parents always like me to be home for dinner on Sundays, so ‘we can be a family’.Yeah, right. Well, I suppose it’s possible that I would never see them if we didn’t have Sunday dinner together. On the other hand, how is that a bad thing?

Dinner's okay. Mom makes some remarks about the sanctity of vows and how you should always stick by your man, which makes Jack laugh.He must be in his Daddy’s-little-girl phase where Claire can do no wrong and Tom is the scum of the earth.That will change in a few days when he has enough of her hanging around the house and John screaming the place down at all hours. Then he'll make it clear that she should fuck off home to her husband. I just keep my head down.

After dinner, he wants me to watch the game with him. I tell him that I have a lot of reading to do over the summer, which I have to do on Sundays as I'll be working every day.It’s not even a lie and he’s not to know that I prefer a book to watching the game any day. Hell, I prefer watching Emmett paint his toenails to the game.

“Why are you doing this again? Do you even get paid?”

“It’s not that kind of job, Pop. I need it for school. It’s just a token payment.”

“How much?”

I do a quick calculation in my head, wondering how much I can get away with. “A dollar an hour.”

“Are you kidding?”

I just stare at him defiantly and see him do some calculations in his head as well. “Well, you better give your mother some money for your keep. A man must always pay his own way.”

There are so many things I could say to that, but I just nod. Looks like I’d better give Mom some money every week if I want to eat in the near future. But at least I’m allowed to go upstairs. I’m thinking of going out in the evening, I’m itching to go actually, to get away from here, but, in the end, I just have an early night. Big day tomorrow.

 

I arrive at Ryder’s with ten minutes to spare. The receptionist on the ground floor sends me upstairs to find a woman named Cynthia Moore and I'll be working for someone called Justin Taylor, apparently, who's the Senior Accounts Manager. Well, well, well, stuffy old Mr. Simmons seems to have more clout than I've given him credit for. I expected to be stuck with some junior-something-or-other, making photocopies and coffee all day. Not that I care, as long as I get a good reference.

Justin. Hhm, that brings back memories and I try not to think about it because, really, showing up with a boner on your first day of work? Not the way to make a good impression. I did enough jerking off over _that_ Justin last night anyway.

Cynthia Moore looks younger than me, but she turns out to be just another intern and tells me to go right in, twirling her hair coquettishly, a move which is completely wasted on me. Even if I was batting for her team, she wouldn’t make it onto my list. Airhead.

The door to the office is only half shut and the voices I hear stop me in my tracks. Oh fuck! I look at the name on the door – Justin Taylor, in expensive-looking permanent lettering – and think back to the first morning.He did say he was in advertising.Life really has a way of fucking you over. Not in a million years would I have expected this situation. What the fuck am I gonna do now?

On the other hand, this could work to my advantage. I know that he likes me, so the reference is in the bag before I’ve even started work. Plus, I can maybe persuade him to let me do more than make coffee and could actually learn something. He could open a lot of doors for me if I play my cards right. I just need to handle this right.And since I've already handled him twice and with no great effort, this should be a piece of cake.

I wait for just the right moment in the conversation to make my entrance, and whatever ground I lose with Ms Moore for barging in like this, is worth it just to see the look on Justin’s face. Oh, this is going to be so much fun. I have to make a concerted effort to keep a straight face and then go on the charm offensive with Ms Moore, who, by the way, _would_ actually be on my list, if I was on that side of the fence. She's quite a looker and has that confidence about her that makes people attractive, male or female.

Justin sends her outside and then we sit opposite each other and he's none too pleased. Okay, maybe expecting him to be pleased was a bit too much to hope. You should always separate business and your private life.I understand that. But it’s not as if we are an item.We just fucked a couple of times. In the gay world, that's no more than a handshake.

He's a little hung up on my age. What is his problem? I’m legal, that’s all that matters. It’s not my fault that he was under the impression that I was older. Actually, I think it’s quite cool that he thought so because that means that I appear more mature and that can only be a good thing in many ways. It’s all in the attitude.

And now I’m wondering how old he is. I have already upgraded him from twink to early twenties due to the place he lives in and that he obviously has a well-paid job. But if he’s _Senior_ Account Manager, I should maybe add a few years to that. He doesn’t look it. He looks more like he’s my age still. However, now is probably not a good time to ask. He looks like he’s gonna have an apoplectic fit at the thought of fucking a high school kid. Or is it _being_ fucked by a high school kid that’s freaking him out? Yeah, there’s a reason I never tell tricks how old I am.

Wait a minute. What?He wants throw over my internship? He can’t do that!I need this! Without this I’m screwed. It was made quite clear to me that without any work experience I wouldn't be considered for the scholarship. I can’t go to university without a scholarship. It'll be tight enough as it is.Jack will never give me any money to become ‘some asshole who thinks he’s better than everyone else’. Hell, Jack still thinks that I’ll be starting work at the factory with him as soon as I finish school.

I try reassurance and some mild flirting. Flirting always works for me. Not many gay men can resist me, if any. But Justin just freaks out some more. He thinks there won’t be any repercussions. Well, there won’t be – for him.Fuck him! I'm really panicking now. He'll just end up being a little embarrassed by the office gossip, what is that compared to fucking up my whole life?I'm not going to let this slip through my fingers because of a fuck. I’ll do anything. Even beg.

“ _Please._ ”

“Brian,” he sighs and I know that I’ve got him. He palms his face and is quiet for a while. I try not to show any triumph.

“Go to Human Resources and get all your papers in order. I need to think.Cynthia will show you where to go.”

I get up without a word. I can’t gauge his mood, so I decide to bide my time and let him work through this himself. I’d rather stay here and make sure that he doesn’t change his mind again, but I don’t know him well enough to be certain what will get me what I want. Normally, I would always go for seduction, but since sex is what’s freaking him out at the moment, it might be better to play on him feeling sorry for me.

I trudge over to Human Resources together with the airhead, who looks rather flushed. Maybe she's had the first reaming out of the day. It won’t be the only one, I can tell. She talks nonstop on the way over and leaves finding the place completely up to me. Her name's Sarah and she'll be here for the same time period as me. Oh joy!

It takes about half an hour to fill in a bunch of papers. When we return, Ms Moore, who tells us we can call her Cynthia, gives us a quick tour of the main departments. She's very professional and severe, although she's a lot nicer to me than she is to Sarah. I do not envy the girl. She's in for a long summer.

Justin is standing by the window when I return. He tells me to shut the door and I move up to stand next to him, but he withdraws immediately and sits behind his desk, motioning for me to take a seat myself.

“I know you need this internship,” he says.“And I don’t want to screw it up for you. None of this is your fault.” There's an implication that it might be his fault. I don’t know how he worked that one out, but if he feels guilty, that can only work in my favor. “So, here are the rules: you and I will be colleagues, nothing more. You will at no point let on that you have ever met me before. To no one. You will be courteous and professional. You will call me Mr. Taylor at all times, no exceptions. You will not question my orders, ever. In return, I will make sure that you learn as much about advertising as you possibly can. And your reference will be on merit. Of your work.”

He blushes furiously and I know exactly what he's thinking. Well, if he were to score my fucking, I wouldn't have to lift a finger. I roll in my lips to stop a smirk. I'm unexpectedly turned on by his bossy demeanor, but I suppress that as well.

“And whenever we're alone together, the door will stay open.”

Now I can’t help smiling. Looks to me like he doesn’t trust himself to be alone with me. But he's not in the mood for innuendo and glares at me warningly. I tuck my smile away.

“Go and open the door,” he says, a little impatiently.

I suppress an amused ‘yes, sir’ and get up to do as I’m told. If we can just get through the first two or three days without problems, I know he will relax. And by then, it will be too late for him to say anything anyway. It would look odd and he would have a hard time explaining why he didn’t say anything sooner. Yeah, two or three days and I’m home free.

“And Brian,” he says, just before I reach the door.“There will be no sex of any kind. Ever again.”

I'm assailed by an inexplicable surge of anger so strong and so sudden that for a moment I forget that I'm determined to make nice and play along to any and all of his rules at all costs.

“Well, that won’t be a problem. I already had you.”I open the door wide to cut off any response he may have and add, “Mr. Taylor.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

**PART  FOUR**

What did I expect? That he would be upset? That he would beg, ‘ _anything but that_ ’? Of course, he doesn’t. He's right. He already had everything he wanted from me. It really won’t be a problem for him. And for me?I don’t rightly know. I do know that I can’t have sex with him ever again. He's still in high school! He shouldn’t even be on Liberty Avenue every night, never mind having sex with complete strangers. Or me.

I have to draw the line somewhere. Usually, I only have sex with guys whom I have a relationship with or guys I'm hoping to have a relationship with. And, yes, a few times I've come across a guy whom I never saw again after the first night. It happens to everybody. But I can honestly say that Brian was the first guy whom I spent a night with fully expecting to never see him again afterwards. And I was okay with that. Until we actually had sex and then I just wanted more. But the second night was definitely unexpected, especially after what he said in the morning.

I would never have taken him home if I'd known that he's only seventeen. That’s a full twelve years younger than me. It isn’t so much the age _difference_ that bothers me because twelve years older than me wouldn't cause me any sleepless nights. It's that I feel like a child molester. So I didn’t know and he looks older and behaves older, but that's not how other people will see it. They'll see a guy pushing thirty taking advantage of a kid not yet of age. 

It's laughable. Up until the moment when I found out, I would have said that I was the one being taken advantage of. I was the one who was upset, who would have liked it to be more, who wanted it to continue. Brian was the one who approached me, fucked me senseless two nights running and made it quite clear that it was just sex. And that would be okay if he was twenty-two or even just twenty. The only other time I slept with a teenager was when I was one myself. Ethan and I were both nineteen.

I never actually thought: _you’re twenty-nine now, so you should only sleep with guys over twenty_. The thought never entered my head because I've never been attracted to twinks. I’m looking for a relationship.What would I want with some kid who doesn’t know shit?

But for starters, Brian is the least twink-like twink I've ever come across. He doesn’t look it and he doesn’t act it. I wouldn’t have been attracted to him otherwise. Now that I do know, I'm drawing a line. Right here. But I can’t help wondering what it will cost me. Because being with Brian is like seeing the face of God, at least when he's focused on me. It’s an almost spiritual experience where time and space just fall away. I've never felt with anybody else what I feel with him.

At the same time, I'm trying to stay realistic. Brian could be twenty-five or thirty-five or even fifty-five and it wouldn’t change a thing. He's not looking for a relationship with me, and quite possibly not with anyone else either, so it’s silly to bemoan the fact that a relationship is no longer possible. It was just one of my stupid pipe dreams, so I haven’t really lost anything. Except my dreams, of course. But those have been crushed more times than I care to remember anyway. What else is new?

But even if he went down on his knees and proposed to me, the answer would be no. Just no. Seventeen? Definitely on the other side of that line. And now I can’t help thinking that the reason we never had a conversation was because there's nothing to say. At seventeen, I certainly had a lot to say for myself, but not an awful lot of it was worth listening to. There's very little I have in common with my seventeen-year-old self – or any other seventeen-year-old.

I try not to think about what else this whole sorry situation could cost me. My job, if anybody finds out that I had sex with my new intern, albeit unknowingly, and then never owned up to it. My friends, if they ever find out I had sex with someone that young. Most of my friends are heavily involved with the GLC and have nothing but disdain for casual sex, never mind sex with minors. Bottom line: for my life not to fall apart I need to rely on Brian to keep his mouth shut. Luckily, it’s in his best interest as well.

I'm pretty sure that this will be the longest six weeks of my life. Not only do I have to hold it together so that no one suspects anything. I also have to work with Brian. And that may well prove to be the hardest part. I've never been one who could turn off his emotions at will. That's always been my problem, too much feeling, and always for the wrong guy. I suspect that this won't just be a matter of one day at a time, it will be more like one _minute_ at a time. How many minutes are there in six weeks?

But we have to start somewhere, so I pull out the files of some of the accounts I’m working on and go through them with him, explaining what the client wanted us to do, what ideas we came up with and how we settled on the final draft. Brian seems to be listening intently. He asks a couple of questions that are surprisingly well thought-out but says nothing else.

There’s a meeting at eleven with Brad and Bob to discuss some of their ideas. Brian pulls up two chairs in front of my desk for them and then one just to the side of the desk, facing them, for himself. The arrangement almost makes it look like they're reporting to both me _and_ him. All my other interns always sit on the couch at the back, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. For a few moments, I'm so amused by his cheek and Brad’s and Bob’s faces that I forget that I want to treat him like any other intern. And then it’s too late to say anything without looking stupid or humiliating him.

The two stooges, as I like to call them in my head, ignore him for the rest of the meeting and he doesn’t say anything either, but whenever I put a board down, he picks it up to scrutinize it. Brad and Bob work well together. They get the practical things done and they always deliver on time. But you couldn’t exactly call them inspired. Usually, I give them the small accounts with small budgets where broad strokes and innovative ideas are neither expected, nor desired.

I sign off on one of their ideas and send them back to the drawing board for the other one. After they leave – snatching the last board from Brian’s hands – he puts the chairs back into their original positions and sits down in front of my desk. Then he gets up and opens the door, which Brad has shut behind him, and sits back down.

“The interns usually sit on the couch during meetings,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.

He frowns at the couch behind him, then looks back at me. “How do your interns learn anything if they sit somewhere where they can’t see the boards? They won’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s a courtesy to my colleagues so that they don’t feel that they're being judged by some snotty-nosed intern.” I can’t help getting that little dig in. _Try and stay professional, Taylor!_

“If their work is good, what difference does it make? And if it isn’t good, they _should_ be judged.”

I stare at him. He must be, without a doubt, the most arrogant guy I've ever come across. Even if he is right.

“So, what's your judgment on the work you’ve just seen, Kinney?”

“Boring, uninspired, pedestrian, lackluster, dull, need I go on...? Mr. Taylor?”

“Please, spare me.” I have to laugh despite myself. Then I have an idea. “How about you develop your own concept for one of their accounts, let’s say the drinks campaign?”

“Really? What do you want me to do?”

“You have until Friday to come up with an idea and to produce the boards. I give you two hours of time with Fiona in the Art Department to help you. I’ll send her an email to expect you. You need to liaise with her to find out when she has a spot for you. And you can take one day off from shadowing me to work on your concept. Cynthia can find you a desk somewhere.”

”I can do that at home. I just need the time in the Art Department.”

“Okay. You’re on.”

Usually, I take my interns to lunch with me, but I really can’t bring myself to spend an hour with Brian not knowing what to talk about. I can’t ask him any personal questions without giving the impression that I'm asking him out of a personal interest and I don’t feel like talking shop. So Cynthia and I hide from our interns in my office during lunch, eating salad and bemoaning our fate.

At least, my intern has brains. Cynthia’s seems to be devoid of a single original idea, or even an unoriginal one, according to Cynthia. Although, Cynthia’s judgment has always been more severe than mine.

“Yours is prettier, too,” she smiles.

“I wouldn’t know,” I say evasively.

She laughs. “Yeah, because you've turned blind overnight. Or straight.”

We both laugh at that and then we turn to other topics, like how secretive Marty's been recently and whether Joshua from Accounting and Geraldine from HR are really having an affair.

When we finish work in the evening, I don't offer Brian a ride like I usually do with my interns. I don’t care if other people pick up on this particular little detail. There’s no way I will sit in my jeep with him again.

Instead of going home, I drive over to Daphne’s place. She now lives in her parents’ house, which she inherited when they died in a car accident three years ago. I feel very much at home here, having spent much of my childhood at her place. So when she doesn’t answer the door, I walk around the side of the house and find her reading by the pool, soaking up the last of the sun of the day.

“Hey,” she goes.

“Hey.”

“Uh-uh. I know that face. What happened?”

“Brian happened.”

“Brian? Did you not go to work today? Or did he turn up again last night?”

“Yeah, he turned up alright. At work.”

“Huh?”

“He’s my new intern.”

She stares at me for a bit. Then she bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop until I push her into the pool. When she comes back up, she’s spluttering and still laughing. “Oh, that is priceless! Is he a student at Carnegie Mellon then?”

“No.”

“What then?”

I shake my head. I can’t even bring myself to say it.

She boosts herself out of the pool, wraps a huge towel around herself and sits next to me on the lounger. “Tell me,” she says quietly.

“He’s doing an internship as a requirement for his scholarship. He’s in high school, Daph! He’s seventeen!”

“Oh, fuck!”

I tell her all about what happened today and she listens silently.

“Wow,” she says when I finish. “Can you imagine having sex like that when you’re seventeen?”

I glare at her. “Really? My life's falling apart and _that_ is what you’re focusing on? _Really_?”

“Oh, come on, Justin. You know I didn’t have my first guy-induced orgasm until I was twenty-one.”

“Yeah, and you've been making up for lost time ever since.” Not that I ever found anything wrong with that. Why shouldn’t she just because she’s female? What I don’t say is that now I know exactly how she felt. Since Brian and I slept together, I feel like I’ve just lost my cherry. It felt more momentous than when I had sex for the first time. I didn’t know that sex could be like that and it seems like everything I did before that was just playing doctors and male nurses.

She smirks, but then she becomes serious. “Whatever possessed you not to go straight to your boss and tell him the truth? You didn’t do anything illegal. But now, if it comes out, you could lose your job. Or at least get a severe reprimand.”

“I was embarrassed.”

“You will be even more embarrassed if it comes out later.”

“I didn’t want to mess it up for Brian. His scholarship depends on this.”

“And it will be even more messed up for him if it comes out later. And then there won’t be any time to salvage it.”

“He said ‘please’?”

She looks at me for a while. “You're in love with him.” It isn’t even a question, just a realization on her part.

“What? No. He was just so desperate... and I... he looks really good in a suit... and I felt sorry for him... it’s not his fault... and... Fuck! I’m in love with him.”

Oh God! Can this day get any worse? It was bad enough when I thought that I wanted more sex from a guy who was most unlikely to give it to me. When I thought he was just a few years younger than me and simply didn’t want what I want.

But now, I have to face up to the fact that I'm in love with a seventeen-year-old high school kid, who has satisfied me more in two nights than I have been in my ten years of being sexually active before that. This kid has also made it quite clear that it was just a fuck to him and that now that he’s had me, he’s not interested in me anymore. And to make matters worse, he is now my intern, so I couldn’t sleep with him if he begged me to. _And_ I will have to work closely with him for another six weeks.

“You’re a doctor, Daph. Can’t you diagnose me with some disease that lays me off work for six weeks?”

“Oh for God’s sake, Justin! Are you really gonna run scared from a _kid_?”

She's right, of course. I've never been one to turn tail and run. The reason that never telling my dad that I'm gay irks me so much is because that was so out of character for me. And now I’m going to let some arrogant kid with attitude drive me away from my job when I’m just weeks away from getting the art director’s position that I always wanted?

But how the hell can I be in the same room with him every day? It would be mortifying if he found out how I feel about him. He would laugh at me and then exploit my feelings for him mercilessly. There's only one  solution: be professional. I've worked with people before whose guts I hated with a passion and they never knew. Surely, I can do it the other way round as well. Concentrate on work. Don’t let personal feelings interfere. Clamp down on any stray thoughts. It could work. No, it _will_ work.

Oh God! Forget minutes. How many _seconds_ are there in six weeks?

 

*******

 

The day passes slowly.  Justin starts treating me like we never met before and talks about nothing but work. He shows me some of the accounts he’s working on at the moment. I like his campaigns. They're very artistic, beautiful really, not like ordinary advertisements, more like works of art that happen to be used in an ad. It seems like a bit of a waste to me.

The second time I was at the loft, I looked over his work. His paintings are all abstract, which I don’t usually like, but his were speaking to me or whatever those pretentious art critics call it. I don’t know why he doesn’t exhibit. He’s certainly talented enough for it. Or maybe he does and I just never heard of him. I have no great interest in art.

Of course, I liked his sketches much better. There was one of me, from mid-thigh upwards, naked and semi-erect. That was really something. Okay, so I make a great subject, but apart from that, the detail was incredible. It made me feel good that he sees me like that. It was full of emotion. You could see in that picture how much he wants to fuck me. Lots of people want to fuck me but not like that, not like I’m the most beautiful guy on the planet.

I know I’m good-looking. I know I’m hot. And I know that I will have no shortage of fucking partners between now and when I’m thirty. And after that I'll be old and probably kill myself anyway. It’s always good to leave a beautiful corpse. Everybody should check out in their prime before people lose interest. But that drawing just added something apart from beauty.

Justin is beautiful, too. Not smoking hot like me or even good-looking in that boy-next-door way that Michael has, no, Justin has an ageless beauty. He will probably still look like this in his dotage. Fucker. Does he even notice how he draws all eyes when he's at Woody’s and Babylon? But I, of all people, should know that appearing not to notice or care is all part of the attraction.

Maybe I underestimate Justin. He's certainly very intelligent. Watching him interact with his colleagues has made that clear. So there's always the possibility that he knows exactly what he’s doing, that he's a lot less innocent than he appears to be. I know all about projecting an image. But as I'll be here for six weeks, I know he'll slip up at some point. It will be fun catching him out.

I don’t think much of Brad and Bob. God, I could devise better campaigns than these. Which I make abundantly clear and Justin issues me with a challenge. Yeah, I get what he’s doing. He thinks he can get rid of me if he gives me little projects. He's petrified that someone will find out about us, what little there is. Get over it already! Nobody’s gonna know. And I most certainly won’t fuck it up. I can’t afford to.

He sends me off to lunch and I have to dodge the airhead, so that I can go off on my own. I have to budget my money carefully because I won’t get paid until Friday. Debbie said she would cash my check for me, but after that I will have to last two weeks with that money because Debbie and Michael will be in New York visiting Vic.

Last year, I went with them and Vic took Michael and me round the clubs. The clubs there are on a whole different level from the clubs here. I really can’t wait to get out of Pittsburgh. Vic’s boyfriend was a piece of work though. The way he looked at me and even Michael. A couple of times I had to tell him to fuck off when he cornered me. What a creep! I never told Vic. I don’t interfere in other people’s ‘relationships’. If they can’t work out by themselves how stupid it is to think you can be with just one person, then it’s their funeral. I just thought that Vic was smarter than that.

All afternoon, Justin explains things in great detail. If we carry on like this for the six weeks, I'll be well ahead of anybody on the course next year. If the situation wasn’t so fucked-up, I would really enjoy myself, but his detached attitude is grating on me. I’m not used to gay men keeping me at a distance. They usually want the complete opposite.

I meet airhead girl by the photocopier and whilst I’m making my copies, she sidles up to me and suggests we could have lunch together tomorrow. I look down at her – she barely comes up to my chest – and decide that I really can’t be bothered with this for the next few weeks.

“You’re not my type.”

She looks a little shocked. Then she giggles. “Why? Are you gay or something?”

“Yeah, I am.”

I can see that she's not taking it too well. She steps back and looks me up and down. I know that look. It’s the ‘ew that’s disgusting’ look. I grin and she turns and flees from the room. She’s probably worried that it’s contagious. For a few seconds, I wonder if I should tell Justin about this, but it will only make him even more nervous. So I decide to forget about it.

Justin wraps things up at precisely five o’clock and tells me to go home. It seems as if he can’t stand to be in the same room with me for a minute longer than absolutely necessary. Ah well, we got through the first day without a hitch. He’ll relax eventually.

I take the bus home and dinner is on the side for me, as usual, but no one’s home. So I can get changed and then I eat a TV dinner in peace before I make my way over to Mikey’s. Debbie’s on evening shifts this week and we can only go out until ten now. Well, I could stay out longer as I’m not staying over there, but I always try not to draw any attention to how much I go out at home. They might decide to ask me where I’m going all the time.

Ted and Emmett are already in Woody’s when we arrive and we all take a seat at one of the tables. Michael, who's been moaning the whole way about the amount of chores he had to do all day for his mother, finally asks me how my day has been. So much the better. It’s always nice to have a larger audience for the really good stuff.

“Fine. Justin's my new boss.”

Ted chokes on his drink and Emmett pats his back, asking incredulously, “Little Justin from the other night?”

I grin and nod.

“Oh my lord!” he exclaims.

“What did you do?” Michael asks.

“Nothing. We worked all day.”

Ted has recovered a little. “What do you mean? He didn’t say anything? You’re still his intern?”

“Yep. He couldn’t bear to let me out of his clutches.”

“Is he mad? Do you know how much trouble he can get into?”

I shrug and feel a low-grade anger surfacing. Why is everybody so concerned about a fuck? Or several?

“At least your reference is going to be brilliant,” says Michael, who doesn’t look too pleased either. “He’s not likely to give you a bad report no matter how you perform, is he?”

“My performance is always great, Mikey.”

Michael laughs and Emmett just rolls his eyes. Only Ted mutters darkly, “The poor guy's going to be fucked by you in more ways than one.”

“Well, he didn’t complain on Thursday or Friday, so he’s not likely to start now.” I decide that it’s time to find my evening’s entertainment and start checking out the guys who are cruising me from the other side of the room, when I notice how quiet the others have gone. I turn to see them staring at me.

“What now?”

“You were at Justin’s on Friday night?” Michael asks in a hurt tone. “You fucked him twice?”

Fuck! I didn’t really mean to let that slip. They'll never let me live that down now. “Actually, it was more like a dozen times,” I say tersely and get up to take the guy at the bar up on his silent offer. I really fucked up there. Maybe Justin is right to be concerned and a bit more discretion is in order. Not that the guys will cause any problems, of course, but if I can slip up with them, I can slip up at work. It’s time to get my head into the game. But first there's some other game I want to play with the guy at the bar.

 

*******

 

In the morning, Cynthia pulls me to one side and informs me that Brian's gay. Oh really? I haven’t noticed.

“Cynthia, in gay circles it’s considered bad manners to out people.”

“Yeah, well, Sarah told me and I thought maybe you should warn him.”

“That he’s gay? I think he knows.”

“That Sarah knows and I don’t think me telling her to keep her mouth shut will have the desired effect.”

“Why does she care?”

“She has a crush on him. Who wouldn’t?”

I raise my eyebrows and look at her pointedly.

“He's a little young for me,” she says with a shrug. “And for you, too, I hasten to add.”

“Thanks, Cynthia.” I knew this wasn’t going to work.

“Did you know?”

“That Brian’s gay? First time I saw him.” It’s very true. Although the first time I saw him, he was coming out of Babylon, which was a bit of a giveaway. I sit in my office wondering if I would have known that he’s gay, if I'd met him somewhere else. Maybe. But I  have a funny feeling that I wouldn’t have if he hadn’t wanted me to. It’s strange, there's nothing about Brian that hints at being gay and yet when you see him on Liberty Avenue, everything about him practically screams hot stud.

I can hear him say good morning to Cynthia outside, his voice oozing charm. No wonder, everybody’s got a crush on him. And then he comes in and gives me a very neutral, “Good morning, Mr. Taylor.” What happened? Yesterday he could barely contain his mirth at the situation and today he's all professional detachment.

“Shut the door.”

He hesitates and then shuts the door before sitting down. He looks at me, trying not to show his amusement by poking his tongue into his cheek. God, has he any idea how sexy that is? How charming? His eyes sparkle and he raises an eyebrow questioningly. I just want to jump his bones.

“Did you tell Cynthia’s intern that you’re gay?”

All his amusement vanishes in a flash. “Yes.”

“What happened to keeping a low profile?”

“She was practically molesting me, so I told her she’s not my type. She asked if I’m gay because, naturally, there couldn’t possibly be any other reason for turning her down and I said yes. I didn’t realize that keeping a low profile includes pretending to be someone I’m not.”

“Nobody’s asking you to pretend. Just don’t flaunt yourself.” And now I sound like my dad, who was always going on about how ‘these people’ are flaunting their ‘life style’.

Brian's bristling now. “I wasn’t fucking some guy over by the water cooler. I simply answered a question honestly.”

I sigh. “Brian, in business there're different rules. If you want to get ahead you have to fit in. I'm not the most brilliant advertising guy in the company. Not by a long shot. But I'm Senior Manager because I’m personable. My colleagues like me and what's more, the clients like me and ask for me personally. That’s how I got here. Part of that is not talking about being gay.”

“So nobody knows that you’re gay?”

“Everybody knows I’m gay. It’s simply never discussed. I don’t talk about it and they don’t.”

“Except behind your back. You’re deluding yourself if you think they don’t hate you. Straight people always do. Either openly or behind your back.”

“Quite. And that’s the problem. Now you’ve given them ammunition. They will watch us more closely now. And they will assume that we’re fucking. They'll think that because you’re gay, you'll fuck me to get ahead, to get a good reference. And that I'll fuck you because all fags like little boys.”

“Wow.” He seems strangely impressed. “You’re really not just a pretty face, are you?”

I’m not sure if I’m annoyed or flattered. It’s just an expression. It doesn’t mean that he thinks I’m good-looking. And it’s kind of condescending, too. “I’ve been round the block a few times.”

“Really?” Now his smirk is back. God, I love that smirk. As much as I wish that he would stop with the subtle innuendos, I kind of miss it when he does. I'm so screwed. And I’m beginning to wonder if I'm the one who’s going to fuck this up. Because I can’t seem to get a grip. When he walked in just now, all I could think was how well he's wearing his suit. How mature and sophisticated he looks. And how much I want to peel him out of that suit and let him fuck me on my desk.

I look down, so that he can’t read my thoughts. “I’m not asking you to lie. Just don’t talk about it. And be extra careful how you interact with me when there are other people around.”

“Yes, sir,” he smirks and there's that tongue in his cheek again. I so want to suck on it and kiss him and... I sigh. “Just open the door, Brian.”

“Yes, Mr. Taylor.”

My paranoia doesn’t decrease over the next few days. It’s not Brian who's the problem because he has undergone an astonishing transformation from playfulness and mild flirtation to serious and professional. He has an amazing poise for someone so young. He's helpful without fawning. He never asks irrelevant questions or needs to be told anything twice. When we walk through the department, he walks beside me but always at just the right distance, never too close but also never too far, as to make it obvious that he’s trying not to be too close. When he speaks to me in front of other people, his voice is level and friendly but not too friendly. And he never forgets to call me Mr. Taylor. He anticipates what I need, handing me folders and boards before I can ask for them, making it look efficient rather than slavish.

But I can feel, rather than see, my colleagues watching us. Everybody seems to be waiting for that look, gesture, smile or even touch that’s just that little bit too intimate, that tells them that we’re more than manager and intern. And if they’re expecting it, then they will see it whether it’s actually there or not.

When we’re alone, his whole manner changes. I can’t put my finger on it, but I get the feeling that he’s toying with me. There are no open innuendos, but he somehow manages to infuse the most ridiculous things with sexual energy. Words like ‘performance’, ‘hard facts’ and ‘layout’ make me blush when I happen to look at him at the time. His eyes sparkle with mischief sometimes, but it’s even worse when he seems unaware of it. The amount of times he manages to pick things up from somewhere low down, displaying his ass to me, is ridiculous. But then again, it’s probably not him but me.

I can’t seem to focus on anything when he’s in the room or even when he’s not. I look at his fingers and feel them on my body – or _in_ my body. When he speaks, I have to turn away sometimes because his mouth reminds me of what he can do with it. And what he _did_ do with it. To _me_. I have to make a concerted effort to never look at his crotch because that produces an instant boner. Even just his voice washes over me like a warm breeze. It’s like spending all day, every day, on foreplay. No wonder I’m sitting behind my desk a lot of the time, hiding the evidence of my obsession.

On Friday, Brad and Bob come back in for a meeting to show me their ideas for the Poole drinks campaign. I look at the boards and they’re not bad. Lots of pretty people, lounging around in swimwear, drinking strangely colored beverages, a different color scheme for each flavor.

I feel a little mean asking Brian if he’s come up with anything. It’s a bit much expecting an intern to devise a campaign by himself and he hasn’t taken any time off to spend in the Art Department, so I'm assuming he’s drawn a blank. But he was the one who said bad work should be judged and it’s only fair that he should be judged for what he says and does. Let him prove that he can do better.He’ll soon find out that it’s not as easy as it looks.

To my surprise, and that of Brad and Bob, he puts three bottles on the table together with three boards. He's changed the labels on the bottles to Poolboy and there's a different picture of a hot guy in swimwear on each of them.

His boards are kind of racy, too. _Enjoy_ a Poolboy? Brad and Bob look like they are going to have a fit. Both of them blush furiously and don’t really dare to look at either Brian or me. I have to bite the insides of my cheeks really hard not to laugh out loud.

Eventually, Brad coughs and says: “I don’t think that will reach the projected market.”

“That’s because you’re aiming at the wrong market. This is geared towards the gay market. There are huge amounts of disposable income there. But they won’t be attracted by that.” Brian points to the other boards. “And the demographic you’re aiming at is already saturated with similar products. If you change your target group, you have more of a chance to stand out.”

Brad and Bob stare at him, then turn to me. “Justin?” There's pleading there to stop this farce, but also doubt and quite rightly so.

“He's right, guys. The market for this kind of drink is overflowing – pardon the pun. Brian’s idea is original and viable.”

“You want us to go with that?” Bob asks with a frown, pointing to Brian’s work.

I sigh. “No. We’ll go with your idea. Work it over and have it completed by Wednesday.”

They smile and I'm relieved to see that they're not gloating at Brian, because he certainly was just a moment ago. Brian pointedly throws the revamped bottles and his own boards in the trash while they're gathering their stuff together.

After they leave, he stands up and looks down at me. “You’re a fucking coward.”

“Brian,” I start, but he’s already turning on his heels and walking out the door. And he doesn’t forget to slam it on the way out either. I have to force myself not to bang my head on my desk.

A minute later, Cynthia is in my office, asking me what the hell is going on.

“Mr. Kinney just threw a temper tantrum.”

“Why?”

I fish the boards out of the trash and show them to her, plus the bottles.

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah, I know. Needless to say I couldn’t use his idea.”

She's still looking at the boards. “That boy's gonna go far.”

I couldn’t agree more. If this isn’t a fluke and he has more ideas like this up his sleeve and if he gets into college and goes on to work in advertising, he will become a force to be reckoned with. In fact, the smart thing to do would be to offer him a contract right now.

“Still, you can’t let him get away with his behavior. He’s an intern. You need to reprimand him.”

I snort sarcastically. Yeah, I can think of several ways I would like to reprimand him and all of them involve us being naked. Probably not quite what Cynthia has in mind. “I’ll think of something.”

When Brian returns twenty minutes later, I've already spoken to Fiona, who tells me that she and Brian stayed late on Wednesday to produce the boards because that was the only time she could squeeze him in. She's full of praise for him and his idea and I thank her. She laughs and tells me to just approve her overtime claim form when she hands it in.

Brian flounces back into the office and takes a seat without a word. I can smell cigarettes on him, so I know where he’s been.

“Clayton Poole is a homophobe. He gives generously to anti-gay organizations and he would never accept a campaign which is geared towards gays.”

Brian looks at me, but I can’t tell if my explanation makes him feel any better.

“Look on the bright side.” I try a winning smile. “Your campaign would make him a shitload of money and do you really want to make a guy like that any richer? Let him be stuck with a mediocre campaign. Your idea was extraordinary. You should be very proud.”

He looks out of the window for a while, then back at me and he seems a little calmer.

“You're very talented, Brian, but if you ever behave like that again, you will be out on your ass. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he says sarcastically.

“Now go home and I see you on Monday.”

There's still an hour until we finish work, but I want him out of here so he can get a hold of his temper and maybe relax over the next couple of days. Let him start his weekend early and forget about work. As for myself, I have trouble switching off after work. For one thing, I'm blown away by his talent. It's rare and he's so young. For another, and I suspect that this is my main problem, I can’t forget what he said. He called me a coward. Ever since my father died, that's exactly what I've been wondering. Am I a coward? There are so many aspects of my life that feel dishonest now. Do I really want to feel regret later for not speaking my mind, like I do with my father?

I go to meet up with some friends of mine in a bar near the university. They're discussing plans for the annual carnival held by the GLC, but I only make one or two half-hearted attempts to participate and when they ask me to come to the center at the weekend, I shake my head. I feel an urgent need to paint over the next two days.

“It’s for charity, Justin,” Dan rebukes me.

I get up and put my jacket on. “I’m creating a poster for free, Dan. And I don’t want to spend my fucking weekend at the GLC. Okay?”

On my way home, I’m wondering when my life has started to unravel. Nothing is right any longer. Whatever was stable and safe before, no longer holds any comfort for me. I've been going to the GLC since I was nineteen. They have advised me on many occasions and even exhibited some of my work over the years. I've met most of my friends there. But now I’m wondering if their idea of quiet existence is really the way to go. Do we really want to court the heteros, hoping that if we're nice and unobtrusive, they'll accept us or at least tolerate us? Shouldn’t we demand our rights instead of begging for them?

I know that I regret the softly-softly approach in my private life. Rather than circumvent my father’s questions whenever he asked me about settling down, I should have come out and told him that I'm gay and made him deal with it, whatever the consequences. Because I know I'll always regret that. Even if he'd disowned me, which I must admit is very likely, I would at least know now what his reaction would have been instead of always wondering. 

And then there are the relationships I had over the years. Starting with Ethan, who first asked me to stay in the closet so that he could get a recording contract – and much good that did him, because no one’s ever heard of Ethan Gold now – and then cheated on me at the first opportunity. And every guy that came after that was not much better. If I'm honest with myself, they were all just as boring.I dated them because they were nice guys and they promised me the earth and they were somehow ‘suitable’ because the kind of guys I really fancy are anything but, so I tend to stay away from them. And the one time I don’t, I end up in the biggest fucking mess I've ever been in. And still, I cannot bring myself to regret a single moment I've spent with Brian so far.

As I'm walking up the stairs to my loft, the skinhead girl who lives in the flat below me comes down.

“Good, you’re here,” she says. “Your boyfriend doesn’t look so good.”

I look after her in confusion, as she disappears down the stairs without stopping. Boyfriend? I haven’t had a boyfriend in over a year. Then something clicks and I hurry up the steps. In front of my loft, there's someone sitting on the floor with his head back against the wall, holding a blood-soaked cloth to his face.

Brian. 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

**PART  FIVE**

When I get to work on Tuesday I'm determined to do better. I can maybe put yesterday down as an aberration due to my surprise at seeing Justin. In general, I am a very focused person. I know what I want and I know how to get it. My teacher always tells me that my determination alone will pull me through and I know he's right. I want to leave this life behind and for that I need to go to university. To get there I need a scholarship. For that I need good grades and an internship.

I've been working towards this for a few years now. Good grades don’t just happen. Yes, I find it easy to study, but they also require work, years of work and that just shows how single-minded I am. I will not stumble at the last hurdle. I won't fuck up this internship. Justin or no Justin.

Last night, I realized just how easy it is to slip up. That _cannot_ happen at work. Not once. So on Tuesday I'm prepared to make sure that nothing will go wrong. I’m all professional and focused. But, of course, the first thing Justin does, is tell me to shut the door – I thought leaving the door open was rule number one? Because, according to him, as soon as the door is shut everybody will assume we’re fucking in here. And then he lectures me on _flaunting_ myself. Maybe this playing by the rules shit will be a little harder than expected.

But Justin surprises me again. Deep down, his attitude is not all that different from mine. He's well aware of what he's up against and he just plays it differently. Isn’t that what I decided to do as well? As far as I'm concerned, it’s not lying if they make you lie. I can do this.

Most of my job is pretty simple. I'm more like a PA than anything else, but Justin is pretty good at involving me. I make sure that I don’t stand or walk too close. When I speak to him, I'm courteous and call him Mr. Taylor. That's actually kind of fun because he seems to never tire of hearing it. When I feel really mischievous, I call him ‘sir’ but only when we're alone because if I say it just right, he blushes – every single time.

Other than that, he's pretty detached and I can’t help flirting with him when we're alone, only I do it so subtly that he's not even sure I’m doing it. The odd remark here or the look that lasts just that second too long there. I deliberately store folders and boards on the low coffee table, so that he can watch me bend over to pick them up. Once I even manage to lean over him to grab a file and he freezes in his seat.

I’m not trying to seduce him. I’m just playing because it’s fun and it’s my revenge for him being so uptight about the situation. Only I can’t tell if his reaction is embarrassment, suppressed lust or simply annoyance. Or all three.

On Tuesday night, I devise my concept for the drinks campaign, while John is wailing in Claire’s old room and Jack is shouting at her for still being in his house when she should be home with her husband. Despite the distractions, I think my idea is pretty good, at least better than anything those two dicks at work are likely to come up with.

Fiona, from the Art Department turns out to be very helpful. She has some photos on file that suit my purposes. Of course, if this was a real campaign, they would have to shoot original photographs. She also shows me a lot of the practical stuff and lets me mock up one of the boards myself. When we’re finished, she even gives me a lift home, which is more than Justin has done.

I’m excited about the meeting on Friday and, as expected, Brad and Bob deliver a dull and boring concept that will most certainly not boost any sales. Justin doesn’t seem to be too concerned about it. He asks me for my concept and I lay it out on the table. Brad and Bob are predictably scandalized, but I can see that Justin is impressed. He points out how good the concept is. I knew that, but it's still nice to hear it from him.

And then he says that they're not going to use it. Why the fuck not? It’s way better than what the two toadies produced.He knows it and they know it. I thought this was about producing ads that sell the product, not about placating your colleagues. Or – I get it – he's too chicken-shit to use it because it has a gay message and he doesn’t like to draw attention to being gay at work. What a coward!

I find myself outside, smoking my second cigarette before I realize what I just did. I queened out, no doubt about it. But would I have done the same if it hadn’t been Justin who shot down my idea? Maybe familiarity really does breed contempt. Would I have reacted the same way if some guy I never met before Monday was sitting in that chair? Maybe this is what Justin was concerned about all along. It certainly doesn’t look good. Fuck!

However, I'm still angry when I get back into the office. Justin’s explanation of the client only calms me down to a certain degree and then my anger flares up again when he sends me home like an errant child. Fucker. I know I have to get a grip on my temper and I keep wondering why I am so very annoyed. It seems disproportionate to the issue at hand.

Debbie's already waiting for me even though I’m an hour early and we go to the bank to cash my check. She looks at it and then at me. “Jeez, Brian, that's a lot of money.”

Yes, Debbie, and that would be the reason I’m asking you to let it go through your account instead of my parents’. So that they don’t find out how much I’m earning. Because there's no way that I’m financing my father’s nights out.

Afterwards, we have dinner at Debbie’s house and then I accompany them to the bus station to catch the bus to New York. Michael is a little upset that I won’t be coming along this year, but I tell him that he'll have too much to do to even notice that I’m not there. _It’s New York, Mikey, get a grip!_

I go home to get changed and go back out before anybody can get home and try and stop me. On the way to Woody’s, I realize that I’ve never been here without Michael. Michael is always there, at least at the beginning of the night, although I often end up somewhere completely different at the end of it. I try to calculate the latest time I can go home tonight without getting into any real trouble. I need to time it just right, either before Jack gets home or long enough afterwards, so that he’s passed out on the couch or asleep in bed.

But I don’t feel like going to Babylon tonight anyway. I feel like getting drunk and in Woody’s I know I will get served. I'm still angry with Justin. I understand his argument. But I’m still angry. With someone. Or maybe something. I can’t put my finger on it.I’m out of sorts and even a blowjob in the toilet doesn’t help much, so I stick to drinking. There are plenty of guys who are happy to pay for me.

When I’m making my way home, I’m pretty drunk. I would be even more drunk if I was staying over at Michael’s because then, one, I'd have someone to make sure I get home safely and, two, I wouldn't have to worry about my parents finding out. Although the idea of my parents, of all people, objecting to my drinking is quite ironic.

I can hear Jack shouting before I've even reached the door. Fuck! He’s home early and not quite passed out yet. The thought of staying out here until he is doesn’t even enter my head. I can hear the wrath in his voice although I can’t make out the actual words and I know his fists are going to follow shortly. Sometimes, it's enough to interrupt him and he'll stop beating on Mom. Maybe he doesn’t like an audience. Of course, sometimes it just makes him switch targets.

As I enter the kitchen, I nearly have a heart attack when I see Mom sitting in the near darkness at the table, looking at me with glassy eyes. So, it must be Claire he’s having a go at. I thought she'd gone back to Tom on Tuesday night. I haven’t seen her around for a few days.

“What the fuck is going on?” I say – as if I don’t know.

“Don’t curse, Brian,” is Mom’s only reaction.

I stomp past her and into the living room and see Claire cowering before Jack while he's calling a her a slut and anything else he can think of. Claire looks petrified and then he strikes her, a hard, open-handed slap against her head.

“Pop!” I rush up to them without thinking. Or rather without thinking anything other than that she's pregnant. As if hitting her wouldn’t be so bad if she wasn’t. I try to grab his arm as he raises it again and all he does is jerk his elbow back hard and hit me in the face with it. It’s a lucky blow because he wasn’t even aiming properly, but I’m momentarily stunned and then I can feel a trickle of hot fluid run down my face. Fuck!

Jack turns around and focuses on me, barely, he is so drunk. I've stumbled back a step under the blow and am still a little dazed. There's no pain yet – I’m probably too drunk for that – but I see him advance on me and raise his hand again and that is when I punch him. I don’t really think about it. Normally, I just put my arms up to protect my head or simply make a run for it, but this time, some instinct makes me lash out, like I do at school when the jocks set upon me.

It's more luck than aim or skill that I manage to hit him square on the chin. He takes a step back and then goes down like a sack of potatoes, landing on his ass.

“Brian! What have you done?” I hear my mother from the door. Oh, _now_ she’s taking an interest! Where was she when her husband was beating on her child?

Jack's sitting on the floor, too stunned and confused to move. I can predict the stages of his stupor with frightening accuracy and he’s  just one step away from passing out now. There's no way he’s getting back up to come after me again, or anybody else. Claire's staring at me with wide, frightened eyes, her hand held against the side of her face where there's an angry red mark in the shape of his hand. There's an older bruise on the other side as well. Then she mouths, “Go.”

Mom is coming forward now to see to Jack, who's getting ready to make himself comfortable on the floor. She's pulling ineffectively on his arm. “What kind of a son are you? You hit your own father! Help me get him up!”

I decide to take my sister’s advice and turn on my heel to leave. I hear Mom shouting my name a few times, but barely slow down to grab a dishtowel from the kitchen radiator before I’m out the backdoor again and start running.

At the next corner, I slow down. It's difficult to run with a cloth pressed to your face. I stop and hold the towel out to look at it. Even in the dim lighting of the street, I can see the dark stain on it from my blood and the bleeding hasn’t stopped yet, so I push it hard against my nose again.

Then I realize that I don’t know where I’m going. Instinctively, I'm on the way to Mikey’s house, but they're in New York, aren’t they? I’ve got nowhere to go. Apart from Michael, I don’t have any other friends at school. I know that Ted has his own place, but I've never been there. And Emmett lives with Godiva, who I have only ever seen from a distance. Besides, I want neither Emmett, nor Ted to see me like this. I would rather sleep on a park bench.

Justin appears in front of me. Not literally, just in my mind. He‘s just the kind of guy who will help first and ask questions later and by that time, I'll be long gone. He'll be annoyed, sure, but I’m counting on him feeling sorry for the poor little high school kid. He made enough fuss about my age. I can always say I got into a bar fight.

Now that I have a goal, I speed up again, straight past Michael’s house and skirting around Liberty Avenue through some back alleys. They aren't exactly deserted in this part of town, but the guys that are here are too busy to pay any attention to me. Which is good because I don’t want anyone to see me like this.

I lean on Justin’s doorbell, but there's no response. Some dyke with barely any hair and a few piercings unlocks the door and looks at me. “You all right?”

Talk about stupid questions. “You’re with that guy upstairs, aren’t you? I saw you the other morning.” She just makes an inviting gesture. While I'm walking up the stairs, I’m a little worried that she'll insist on looking after me until Justin comes home, but when we get to the floor below Justin’s, she just tells me to take care and disappears inside her own place.

I knock on Justin’s door, just in case he has the buzzer turned off, but there's no answer. When I try to sit down, I kind of sag the last bit. In the light of the hallway, the towel looks an angry red and the pain is setting in now, too, a steady searing pulse around my nose and the side of my mouth.

I close my eyes and hope to pass out.   

 

*******

 

I don’t know who I thought it would be, probably Thierry because he seems to turn up every now and again. Some exes you just can’t get rid of. But when I see Brian sitting there and the blood, I realize that I knew instinctively that it would be him. I kneel beside him and pull at the bloody towel to inspect the damage. Growling a little, he pushes me away. There’s a strong smell of booze and cigarettes. Bar fight?

“Can you get up?”

“Of course, I can get up.”

By the time, I've unlocked the door and pushed it open, he's right behind me, but he’s swaying ever so slightly. I want to reach out and hold him, but I don’t know how severe his injuries are and he doesn’t seem to want me to touch him, so I just walk ahead to the bathroom, hoping that he'll follow. I’m a little surprised though when I hear him lock the door. Maybe there's someone after him?

“Brian, do I need to call the police?”

“Fuck off.”

“Do you know who attacked you?”

He just laughs and I take that as a ‘yes’. I give up on getting any information out of him and walk into the bathroom. When he gets there, I gently push him onto the toilet seat. Oh God, there's so much blood. It’s everywhere, on his jacket, his t-shirt, his pants and even on his shoes. I remove the towel, which he’s still pressing to his face, very carefully and the bleeding seems to have stopped. Maybe it was just his nose.

I clean him up with great care, not saying anything and he keeps his eyes fixed on my chest, flinching occasionally when I rub too hard.

“Take your shirt off.”

He laughs a little, but his eyes remain dull. “I knew you couldn’t wait to get my clothes off.”

I smile. “Yes, I’m really attracted to guys who turn up on my doorstep covered in blood. Red's so your color.”

He takes his shirt off and I’m relieved not to see any more obvious injuries. But he doesn’t stop there because he toes off his shoes and takes his pants off as well. I take both items and put them in the hamper. There's no way he can wear them again before they've been washed. By tomorrow morning, they'll be stiff with dried blood.

“You wanna have a shower?”

He nods and takes off his underwear and socks. I've never met anybody who's so comfortable in his own skin and so unselfconscious about being naked. I wish I could be like that. And now I’m staring at his body again and I have to force myself to look away. Because the kid's just been beaten up and he’s only seventeen and he’s my intern. In the mirror, I can see him grin.

“You wanna join me?”

“No,” I say a little too fast and he snorts sarcastically.

I leave him to have his shower and go to the utility room to put his clothes in the washing machine. If I stay in the bathroom, I will only stare at his naked body – or worse. I really need to get a grip. Once I’ve put the wash on, it occurs to me that the clothes might be evidence, but Brian doesn’t seem to want to make a report and I won’t force him. I probably couldn’t anyway, but I also think that this is a decision he’s quite capable of making on his own.

Brian comes out with a towel slung low on his hips. With a concerted effort, I keep my eyes above his chest.He declines any food, but accepts a bottle of water and some Aspirin.

“I put your clothes in the wash. I have a dryer. They should be okay in a couple of hours.”

He nods and plunks himself down on the couch. It doesn’t look like he was expecting to leave any time soon anyway. I hand him an icepack, which I got from the freezer and wrapped in a dishcloth. This isn't the Brian I know, because he’s not even looking up when he takes it and presses it against his face. Usually, he’s so brash and self-assured, but he looks kind of defeated right now.

“Where are my cigarettes?”

I go to find them and also bring an ashtray. Then I sit down next to him but with as much space between us as possible and I try not to look at him because I'm very much aware that he's almost naked.

“Should we call your parents?”

His laugh tells me everything I need to know.

“Can you go back there?”

“Things will cool down,” he says, leaning his head back against the back of the couch and closing his eyes. He smokes silently, blowing the smoke up into the air in long streams. He's by far the most beautiful creature I've ever come across.

“Do you want to go to bed?”

He opens one eye, peers at me and smirks.

“I just meant, that it’s late and you could probably do with the rest. You can have the bed. I’ll be all right here.”

“Why?” he chuckles. “Don’t you trust yourself with me? Or are you worried what other people will think? Believe me, if anybody ever finds out that I’m here in the middle of the night, they'll assume that we’re fucking anyway, so it won’t make any difference.”

“It will make a difference to _me_.”

He looks at me for a long time, both eyes open now, and I can’t work out what he’s thinking. At least, he’s back to his old form of no holds barred. “I’ll go to bed if you come with me,” he says then, smirking. “I promise to behave.”

This is probably the only way that I can get him to lie down. He looks so worn out that I think he'll simply pass out if he doesn’t get horizontal very soon. I can’t see him being in the mood for sex tonight either, so there won't be a problem on that score.

Those are the arguments I provide in my head to agree to his request. But really I just want to be close to him. Actually, what I really want to do is wrap him in my arms and comfort him in any way I can. As if he would let me! He would probably allow any and all forms of sexual activity if he’s not in too much pain, but some genuine affection? Pity even? Not on your life! Everything about him screams solitude.

I tell him that there are some spare toothbrushes under the sink and busy myself with tidying up a bit and switching all the lights off. By the time, I’m coming to bed, he appears to be asleep. Wearing my sweatpants in bed seems wise and I try not to think about the fact that he's just a few inches away from me and undoubtedly naked. Unsurprisingly, it takes me a long time to get to sleep.

 

When I wake up, I find myself wrapped in Brian’s arms. I’m not entirely sure how I got there, but my head is resting on his outstretched arm and his other arm is slung over my waist. My back and ass are plastered against his naked body as he’s spooning me. It occurs to me that this is probably not of my doing because we’re almost on the edge on my side of the bed.

My morning erection is demanding attention, but I daren’t move. A slight wheezing noise tells me that he’s still asleep. Ordinarily, I hate it when my bed partners crowd me. As tactile as I've always been with my boyfriends, this is one place where I like my space. But with Brian, I find myself enjoying it and hoping to stay like this for a little longer. What is it about this kid that makes me redefine so many things that I've taken for granted until now?

Daphne said that I’m in love with him and I’m inclined to believe it. There's lust certainly and much more than I've ever felt before, but there are also all these feelings that I've never had for anybody else. I've considered myself in love a few times in my past, but that was just child’s play compared to what Brian evokes in me.

And, God, could there be a worse subject to bestow these feelings on? He's seventeen, for crying out loud, and all of this makes me feel like a dirty old man. And he's my intern. I'll lose my job. And my self-respect, as well as the respect of anybody I’ve ever known. But that’s not the worst of it. The worst is Brian himself. He will take my heart and trample on it, either by accident or deliberately, and he won't care. I know his type. I always stay away from his type for that very reason.

Brian’s breathing is starting to change and his semi-erect cock is growing hard with an impressive speed until it pokes just between my legs. Without any hesitation he moves his hand to my cock, squeezing lightly and then stroking. I'm tempted to pretend to be asleep still, but then I force myself to roll out of bed and jump up.

“We can’t,” I say.

He finally opens his eyes and grins at me. “Why not? It’s not like we haven’t done it before. And like I said, if we get caught, everybody will assume anyway. We might as well enjoy it.”

“No. I can’t, before, I didn’t know how old you are. And you're my intern.”

He laughs and pulls the covers away, exposing his body in all its naked glory. Then he starts stroking himself, still grinning at me. “Don’t tell me you don’t want it,” he says huskily.

I can’t look away and quite frankly I’m a bit worried that I might come in my pants just by watching him.

“Come here,” he says and it’s like a siren’s call.

I shake my head. “No.” And then I'm saved by a knock on the door. Or not. Now, what am I going to do?

“Your loss,” he says, completely unconcerned.

I'm trying very hard not to panic. “Stay here,” I order and close all the shutters to the bedroom, including the ones that cover the large doorways, which I don’t think I’ve ever closed before. Who could possibly be knocking on my door at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning? At least, it can’t be anybody from work because I don’t think any of them even know where I live, except for Cynthia and she's never been to my loft either. On my way to the door, I’m praying that it’s not my mother, because that could get awkward. Best case scenario: it’s Daphne.

But it isn’t. When I pull the door open, I'm confronted with Dan and Scott, his on-again, off-again boyfriend.

“We brought bagels,” Dan says and walks right by me to deposit them in the kitchen. “We’ve come to pick you up.”

Scott doesn’t look too happy about it, which is no great surprise since he doesn’t like me very much. That's understandable because Dan and I were an item about three years ago and sometimes I wonder if he’s missed the memo that we're over.

“I said I’m not going,” I say and walk into my kitchen to start the coffee. “That means that there's really no reason to disturb me at this godforsaken hour.”

“Ah come on, Jus. There’s a lot of work to do and we could do with your help.”

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine without me. And don’t call me Jus.”

Dan seems a little disconcerted by my uncharacteristic defiance for a moment, then he frowns. “What’s the matter with you recently? You're being very selfish and downright rude.”

“Well, I think it’s rude to barge into my place on a Saturday morning and wake me up when you knew full well that I didn’t wanna go.”

Dan opens his mouth to answer and then shuts it again because, at that very moment, the shower comes on. His eyes widen and he looks towards the bedroom as if he can see through the walls. Scott looks surprised for a moment, then smiles an amused smile. And I'm ready to kill Brian. The little shit did that on purpose, I’m sure.

“Well, if you’re not coming to the center, we'll have to discuss things about the carnival,” Dan says, walks over to the living area and sits in one of the armchairs. Of course, he’s not going to leave now, not until he finds out who’s in my shower. Scott follows him and takes the other armchair. Resigning myself to my fate, I abandon the coffeemaker to fend for itself and drop myself onto the couch, grabbing my sketchpad to make some notes and drawings. It also saves it from prying eyes.

I jot down some ideas about the carnival that Dan throws out. He’s on the committee or rather he _is_ the committee because with him there, there's really no need, or room, for anyone else. Scott is very quiet. His eyes keep flicking to my bedroom. Despite his animosity, I kind of like Scott. I wonder how long it will take him to work out that Dan's just a bully, who thinks that he’s the only person in the world who isn’t an idiot. It took me all of three weeks. Three long weeks spent running myself ragged because my boyfriend thought I needed to do more work for the cause, which basically meant running errands for him and hearing him talk at meetings.

And then Dan’s voice falters and both he and Scott stare at something behind me. I can’t hear Brian until he starts pouring himself some coffee in the kitchen, but I can track his progress across the loft by the way these two follow him with their eyes, or rather: devour him. I daren’t turn around because I’m not sure what I would do if he turns out to be naked. Oh please, God, let him have some clothes on!

Other than Brian stirring his coffee, the room is deadly quiet. The transfixed stares of Dan and Scott would be hilarious if I wasn’t so embarrassed. I can feel myself blushing furiously. Then, I can hear him come up behind me, quietly, on bare feet. I force myself not to turn towards him because I'm afraid I might then be looking at his bare cock.

“Hi, guys,” he says, as if he lives here and has met them plenty of times before.

There are murmured replies and then he bends down and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Good morning, Tiger,” he says, smelling of my shampoo and soap and yet so much better than I ever could. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Before he stands back up, he playfully bites my shoulder, just where it joins my neck, a spot that he knows is sensitive for me. “Are you coming back to bed?” he drawls seductively and I hold on to the sketchpad on my lap for dear life. Without waiting for an answer, he wanders back into the bedroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I’m relieved to see that he has at least a towel slung around his hips, if nothing else.

There's a long pause and then Scott says a quiet, “Wow,” which earns him a reprimanding look from Dan. Only, Scott can’t see it because he's now looking at me with newly found admiration. “I’m not surprised you don’t want to come to the meeting.”

“Yeah, well, there are more important things than sex,” Dan grouses. “This is exactly what’s wrong with us. There's an overemphasis on sex. No wonder straight people don’t take us seriously.”

I’ve had just about enough of this. “Maybe if you'd have more sex, you wouldn’t be pontificating all the time. At least, you'd have to remove the stick from your ass to do it and that would benefit all of us. Why don’t you scamper off to your meeting and leave me to wallow in the gutter? Because I can tell you now that it’s way more fun.”

Scott's pursing his lips, trying not to laugh and Dan stands up indignantly. “I always knew your commitment was just skin deep, Justin.” Then he stalks out of the loft.

Scott is still sitting there, suppressing a laugh. “Can I take up with your current boyfriend as well, when you’re done with him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say automatically. “And may I suggest you get rid of _your_ current one first?”

“Yeah,” he says and throws another longing glance towards the closed bedroom door. Then he gets up and leaves.

I stay in my seat because now that it’s all over, I'm a little shell-shocked. Dan's a gossip, albeit not an obvious one. But he'll find a way to spread what happened here just now to anybody I’ve ever met, all under the guise of being disappointed in me. By the end of the weekend, all my friends will have heard that I'm spending it with a new guy, one who doesn’t bother to dress to greet guests and who issues suggestive invitations in front of them. And as most of my friends have the same attitude as Dan, I will probably have a lot less of them soon.

And do I even care? I never felt quite at home in my circle of friends anyway. Sometimes I wonder if they disapprove more of homosexuality than the heteros. Anything even remotely fun is frowned upon because ‘we have to be aware of how it will look to an outsider’. Why do I have to almost apologize for having sex with other guys, even to my gay friends? Anything that's not happening within the confines of a steady relationship makes you a slut. Is that really what I think?

Oh God, soon I'll have no job and no friends and I'll end up homeless, sleeping in a cardboard box and utterly alone! Yeah, and I'm such a drama queen! I won't lose my job because none of my friends know anybody at my work and the fact that Brian is here will never come out. And even if I do lose all my friends, there'll always be Daphne and to hell with those other kinds of friends anyway. Why am I friends with people I don’t even like that much?

Maybe not coming out to my dad had a lot to do with the company I keep. There's always an emphasis on understanding the homophobes because we can only beat them if we understand them. Half my friends aren't out to their parents or at work. At my work, I don’t deny that I’m gay, but in six years of working there, only two people asked me outright and one of them was Cynthia. I never talk about it. I ignore it when people assume I have or am looking for a girlfriend or wife. I never turn up for work-related social events with a guy. Why is that? If it’s not a secret, why do I try and spare the heteros having to see it? Or am I trying to spare myself because I’m worried about the reaction?

I never told my dad because I was worried that he would throw me out when I was a teenager, not pay for my education when I was a student and disown me after I got my degree. I didn’t want to see his disappointment or even disgust. I didn’t want to put my mom and my sister in the middle of a bitter dispute, even after the divorce. All good reasons, but what it comes down to is that I was a coward, like I was the one in the wrong, not my dad. And it ended with me never giving him the chance to prove me wrong, to surprise me, to stand by me. However unlikely that is, I will always regret not giving him, and myself, that chance.

How many more regrets will I allow myself? This is not me. I'm no longer me. I've always been opinionated on a lot of subjects. It's time that I stop hiding the single most defining aspect of my life. And fuck everyone else.

 

*******

 

When I turn the lock on Justin’s place, I finally feel safe. I feel even safer than when I’m at Michael’s because my parents don’t know about Justin. There's no chance that my father will turn up drunk and embarrass me, or even worse. Although I can totally see Debbie hitting Jack over the head with a frying pan if he turns violent at her house.

Justin sets about patching me up. Fuck! People are always patching me up, but at least he’s not all pitying, like Debbie usually is. Still, I can’t help but try to seduce him. I don’t want him to think that I’m  some silly faggot who can’t take a little nosebleed, but I’m also glad when he turns me down. The last thing on my mind is fucking right now.

When I sit next to him on the couch, my mind starts wandering. Fuck! I hit Jack! With a bit of luck he won’t remember anything when he wakes up. It wouldn’t be the first time. The most likely scenario is that it will all be swept under the carpet. We're very good at never talking about anything in my family. But I know that I'll have to watch myself the next time he’s drunk because if he remembers then, I'll be in trouble.

I've been scared of my dad for a long time, ever since I can remember really. Even when he doesn’t use his fists, there are always verbal outbursts to contend with. I know I’m a disappointment to him, but I can’t help who I am. God knows I’ve tried. I gave up the day I realized I'm queer. I knew then that I would never be good enough. I can’t work out if his disapproval increased after that because on some level he realized it, too, or because my attitude changed. Not that it makes any difference.

Justin's still pretending that he's never gonna fuck me again. Yeah, like I can’t see the way he looks at me, even at work where he's supposed to be oh so detached. I really don’t care all that much at the moment, but for some reason the idea of sleeping in his bed alone bothers me. So I promise to be good, which won’t be difficult tonight, and I'm asleep before he comes to bed.

 

I wake up with my arms around him. He must have cuddled up to me during the night, either deliberately or from habit. I wonder briefly who usually sleeps in the bed with him, but very quickly my horniness takes over and I know he’s feeling the same way before I even put my hand on his hard-on. I can’t believe he went to bed in sweatpants.

He gives me maybe half a minute before he jumps out of bed and tells me no. No? Nobody ever tells me no. His eyes are transfixed on my cock, but then there's a knock on the door. I don’t know what annoys me more, the interruption, his rejection or the fact that he closes all the doors on me. He's so pathetic.

I decide to take a shower and I do hope that his visitors can hear it. Let him try to explain that away. When I come out, I can still hear them talking, so I decide to up the ante. Just wearing my towel, I go to get myself a coffee and only when I’m halfway across the room do I think what a shocker it would be, if his visitor turned out to be Marty Ryder or Cynthia. But they're not and I set out to embarrass Justin even further. Serves him right for trying to hide me away like I’m a dirty little secret.

I can hear the others leave, but Justin doesn’t come into the bedroom to ream me out, like I expected. And I’m all spread out naked on the bed, too. After a while, I find my pants in the utility room and come out to replenish my coffee and sit next to him on the couch. 

He seems pensive and he certainly doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t say anything to me, so maybe it’s not directed at me. The doodles he’s drawing on his sketchpad are aimless. After a while, and without even looking at me, he asks, “You wanna stay the weekend?”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

**PART  SIX**

His reaction is not what I anticipated. I imagined amusement and maybe even him pouncing on me, taking the invitation for what it is. We both know that if he stays here for the weekend, there will be sex. It’s kind of the idea.

But he doesn’t do anything, just nods and grabs his cigarettes. While he’s smoking, I go and prepare some breakfast and when he’s done he comes wandering over to sit at breakfast bar. Dan’s bagels are coming in handy because I don’t have much food in the house. I always forget to go shopping. It’s ridiculous how many times a month I have to go out late to 24/7 convenience store down the road.

He eats what I put in front of him without any apparent interest and he drinks more coffee than I do. I didn’t think that was possible. There's a bruise on his face, just to the side and a little below his nose. And his voice sounds a little nasal today.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“No.” He doesn’t even look up.

“Are you in pain? Do you want more painkillers?”

“Do you have any Codeine?”

“Sorry, I’m allergic to that.”

“Tylenol?”

“Allergic to that, too.”

He snorts. “Tylenol? Nobody’s allergic to Tylenol. That’s what they give you when you’re allergic to everything else. I’ll have some more Aspirin then.”

He swallows two of the pills dry like a pro and I wonder how much drug taking he does on a regular basis. He certainly drinks a lot. At his age, I used to feel drunk if I had one beer at a party. It makes me shudder to think that maybe he's also used to taking painkillers regularly, that maybe this is normal to him, too. I'd feel so much better if he would just reassure me a bit , but maybe it’s not possible to do that without lying.

“Are you safe, Brian?” I ask, meaning can he go back home.

He smirks. “I’m always safe.”

I have to smile. In general, he's amazingly mature for his age, which is maybe not that amazing if he has to contend with a violent home. That makes you grow up real fast. But sometimes he can be a real brat. He seems to be playing all the time, only his games all revolve around sex and seduction.

To my great surprise, he wants to come with me when I declare that I have to go shopping, and something as mundane as walking around the supermarket finally kick-starts our first normal conversation outside work. We start with food, health and cooking and it snowballs from there. He has an opinion on absolutely everything. I like that and the fact that his opinions differ from mine on almost every subject causes a lot of light-hearted banter. The only things he adds to the shopping basket are lube, condoms and cigarettes. For him, that’s all the essentials.

When we get back to the loft and I put the bags on the kitchen island, I find myself suddenly pressed against it. He turns me around and kisses the hell out of me before he pulls my pants down and fucks me up against the counter. That’s certainly a new one for me. Not for the first time, I wonder what I've been doing all these years with guys who only fuck in bed, preferably with the lights off.

And it doesn’t stop there. In fact, we don’t stop for several hours and we're still nowhere near the bedroom. In between rounds, we talk. The only time I feel a bit uncomfortable is when he talks about school. High school was such a long time ago for me and it brings home how young he is.

Leaving school behind was a relief for me. It was the only time in my life that I had bruises because I was the little guy, who liked art and got good grades and never denied it when someone called him gay. I've never been a pushover, so the bullying was maybe more severe than it would have been if I'd kept quiet.

Brian seems to be having similar experiences, only he's bigger and fitter and doesn’t take anything lying down. My jaw drops when he laughingly tells me about how he broke some jock’s fingers in a locker door for revenge. That seems to have got most of the bullies off his back, but he says that there's always Michael, who needs defending on a regular basis because he has neither the strength, nor the confidence to do it himself.

I don’t understand that particular relationship at all. It seems very one-sided to me. I suggest tentatively that maybe there's more to it than appears on the surface, much as it pains me to think about it. But Brian gets annoyed about that immediately and insists that they're just friends and then tells me to leave Michael out of it. Obviously, he's very attached to the guy on some deep emotional level and I wonder if he even realizes that his best friend is in love with him. He's too intelligent not to, but he also has a high capacity for ignoring facts that he doesn’t want to think about. Or maybe they're just facts he doesn’t talk about. Who knows what goes on in that head of his?

He doesn’t want to go out at night, which surprises me. I took him for a party animal. But he's been taking painkillers all day, so maybe he's in more pain than he lets on. We watch a couple of DVDs instead – in fits and starts because we have sex on and off and then need to go back to the scene we were at before we got distracted. Eventually, we relocate to the bed and I fall asleep after another couple of rounds of glorious and dirty sex.

 

I awake on Sunday morning with Brian’s lips around my cock and once again I wish that this weekend would never end. After I come, I glance at the clock.It's only half past nine and he's jumping out of bed and pulling on my arm until I follow him into the shower to return the favor.

“Why are we up at this ungodly hour?” I ask, yawning, as we're getting dressed.

“I’m always up,” he grins.

“I noticed.”

“And it’s not ungodly. That’s the whole point.Mom’s at church and Pop’s out with his buddies or maybe some lady friend. I need you to drive me home, so I can get some clothes for today and my suit for tomorrow.”

I try not to think about tomorrow. When I decided to ask him to stay, I knew this would be a one-time deal, kind of like a lost weekend, only without actually getting lost. Maybe I should have pointed that out to him. Surely, he realizes that nothing has changed? After today, we'll go back to the way things were before. We cannot keep this going without getting into trouble at work eventually. But when I’m waiting in the car outside his house, I wonder if it might be worth it. Yeah, I’m definitely in love, head over heels – or heels over head mostly in this case. I really need to get a handle on this.

I would have liked to go in with him because I’m worried what will happen if he runs into his parents, but bringing an older guy home with him is bound to make the situation worse if that's the case. I also would have liked to see his home, his room in particular.I want to know everything there is to know about him and he's not easy to pin down.

He comes back out in less than ten minutes, throws his stuff on the backseat and announces that he wants to go to the Liberty Diner for breakfast. I hesitate. Last night, I was quite willing to go to Babylon with him, but the Liberty Diner on a Sunday morning is a different matter. I’ve never actually been in there before and it's not so much about it being on Liberty Avenue and frequented by a clientele that I've avoided up to now, it's more about the possibility of someone from work seeing us. But didn’t I decide not to think about consequences just for this weekend? Throw caution to the wind?

I shrug. “Why not?”

We park the jeep outside the loft and walk the short distance. The diner is practically deserted. It seems that Brian's a regular here because the waitress greets him by name. I should have known. He orders half the menu and I just have coffee and a bagel and enjoy watching him eat. When he puts his mind to it, he can make any activity look sexy. The way he licks his spoon or his finger makes my dick stir. It’s only been an hour since my last orgasm. This is getting ridiculous.

“Justin?”

I look up and recognize Lauren, one of the committee members at the GLC. Fuck! That’s all I need! On the other hand, if she’s here, why should I be embarrassed about being here myself? But it’s not  being here as such that makes me nervous, it’s being here with Brian, because I know I’m skating on thin ice. On the other hand, Lauren knows my colleagues no more than Dan or Scott do, so I don’t think this will cause a problem. This living in the moment thing I’m doing this weekend is definitely a lot easier in theory.

“Hey, Lauren.”

“We missed you at the meeting yesterday,” she says, eyeing Brian very closely, while he does something very suggestive with one of the sausages. I bet she already knows all about him from Dan.

“I’m not sure that I'll come to many more meetings from now on. I have too much to do.”

“Yes,” she says, frowning at Brian, who grins at her insolently. “But you’re still doing the poster, aren’t you?”

“Of course.” I have trouble keeping a straight face now because Brian has managed to slip off his shoe and push his foot between my legs, massaging my already half-hard cock with it.

“Good. We need all the support we can get.”

“Of course,” is all I manage to get out.

Luckily, she doesn’t say much else, except for goodbye, after that.

“You’re evil,” I hiss at Brian.

“Who? Moi?” He's all innocence. “I’m sweet. So, you do work for the GLC?”

I shrug, a little embarrassed now. Seems like it’s becoming difficult for me to work out exactly which part of my life I should be embarrassed about at the moment. “Sometimes. They do good work for a lot of people.”

“They’re a haven for dickless fags who can’t get laid.”

I stare at him. Then I have to laugh. Yeah, that just about covers it. I can’t believe I spent so much time there over the years.

“Let’s go,” he says.

“You haven’t finished your breakfast.”

“It’ll still be here when we get back. Kiki will keep an eye on it for me.”

When I get up, he doesn’t walk outside, like I expected, but rather drags me by the hand to the back of the diner and into the restroom.

“Brian?” I ask uncertainly, but that's as far as I get before I find myself in one of the stalls, pressed against the wall with my pants around my ankles while he's pounding into me. Sex never felt this dirty or arousing before – nor this satisfying.

When we're walking back to the table, I blush furiously because everybody seems to be grinning at us, knowing exactly what we've been doing in there. Naturally, the place seems to have filled up miraculously while we were otherwise occupied. And to my intense embarrassment, Lauren's still here, giving me a look of utter disgust. Okay, other than dropping off the poster, I will never step foot in the Center again.

Brian seems immensely pleased with himself as he finishes his breakfast as if nothing has happened. Oh God, I just had sex in a public restroom! And loved it! I find myself looking at him dreamily, wishing that I could have been like him when I was his age or that I'd met someone like him then. How different my life would have been.

I generally consider myself a confident person. I don’t really have any issues, except for being gay maybe, if you can even call it an issue. I'm definitely out, at work, with my mother, with my friends, but I'm not out and proud like Brian is. I censor myself in my head all the time. Up until now, I've always told myself that the reason for that is that being gay doesn’t define me. I'm a person first, and gay second. I want to be seen as me, not ‘the gay guy’ and therefore I don’t talk about it or show it overtly.

But now I’m beginning to wonder if the real reason is that I'm trying to avoid confrontation. Apart from some bullying at school, being gay has never had a negative impact on my life so far. But being gay makes me who I am. It shapes how I behave, how I see the world, who my friends are. I should be able to talk about it freely and it should still have no negative impact on my life.

My straight colleagues talk about their conquests all the time, sometimes very crudely, so why don’t I? Okay, letting some guy fuck the shit out of me in the diner restroom may be a bit more than any of them could stomach around the water cooler, but I can’t even say it to my friends. Because my friends are all like me, self-censoring cowards.

If I had ended up on Liberty Avenue instead of the GLC when I first came out, would I be more like Brian? I did go once, when I was seventeen, but some guy in leather nearly dragged me into an alleyway against my will and I never had the guts to try again. And then, of course, I started going to the GLC where I felt safe and met a different type of people, who taught me to look down on that side of gay life. I had no idea what I was missing. The funny thing is that Daphne, who's definitely straight, has been telling me this for years. I just never listened.

Back at the loft, I persuade Brian to pose for me. Despite his warning that he's very impatient and won’t last long, it's almost two hours before he starts looking at me with lust-filled eyes and his cock swells to that impressive size that he is when fully hard. I try to concentrate, but I only last about five minutes. Then I follow his beckoning finger and end up riding him on the couch.

In the night, Brian holds me in his arms. The other times, he always rolled onto his back and started the night off on ‘his’ side of the bed, although he somehow always ended up spooned against me in the morning. But tonight he just ties off the condom and stays where he is, not quite moving closer to me, just not moving away either. I've learned very quickly not to initiate any intimacy, but I accept gratefully what little he offers.

 

And then it’s over. The alarm goes off on Monday morning and he doesn’t follow me into the shower, but takes his by himself afterwards. I was hoping to talk to him while we're in there – among other things – but it's not to be. Instead I try to talk to him at breakfast, but he shuts me down with an irritated, “Justin, I _know_.” How can he? He didn’t even let me finish.

I let him out of the jeep about a block and a half away from work and he dawdles long enough to arrive more than twenty minutes later, smelling strongly of cigarettes. As soon as he steps into the office, I know that it’s well and truly over. His whole demeanor warns me to keep my distance. However many times I try and smile at him when we’re alone, he completely blanks me. Once or twice I say his name, but he just answers with a deliberately neutral, “Yes, Mr. Taylor?” and I give up. There's only so much rejection I can take after the weekend we just had.

I knew he wouldn't want to continue this. I even tried to tell him that it can’t continue. I suppose what I really would have said was that we should take a break until his internship is over. Or that we should carry on during that time as long as we're _very_ discreet about it. Sometimes, I think that I would even give up my job to be with him, because this right here, Brian being so cold and detached as if we barely know each other? This is killing me. I knew it would. I knew from day one that he would hurt me. Doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

I have to drag myself to work every day and if I thought that working with him when he was playing with me was hard, now I know that working with him when he's so cold is worse. He doesn’t even look at me unless he absolutely can’t avoid it. By the end of work on Friday, I'm a wreck. He politely wishes me a nice weekend and waltzes out the door. I don’t think he smiled at me once all week.

But when I get home, I decide not to do what I've done every evening this week, which is wallow in my own misery. I wasn’t going to be like this anymore. Didn’t I decide to change my life?

At eleven, I put on my tightest clothes and make my way to Babylon. I’m not sure if I genuinely want to do something different with my life or if I’m really just hoping to find Brian. The club is the most likely place where he’ll be. Although when I get there and see him at the bar, I wonder what I’m hoping to accomplish. If he doesn’t speak to me at work, what makes me think he'll speak to me here where he doesn’t have to?

I start dancing, and, just like after my father’s funeral, it takes a lot of the weight off my mind. I can lose myself in the music. The bass resonates through my body and I close my eyes mostly. Occasionally, I feel a hand on me, but when I look at the guys and shake my head, they leave me be. That's until eventually I feel two proprietary hands on my hips and a body molded against my back and I don’t need to look to know it’s Brian. I can’t think of anything other than that he’s here and with me. And he doesn’t stop there either. He’s grinding against my ass and his hands are roaming, first under my shirt, then to the front of my pants and I'm ready to explode.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asks.

I can only nod, forgetting all about discretion and how wretched I felt all week.

“In the backroom? With everyone watching?”

I don’t even hesitate before nodding again. The way I’m feeling right now, he could fuck me right here on the dance floor and I wouldn’t object.

“We can’t. Someone from work might see us,” he snarks and then he’s gone so abruptly that I have to catch my balance because I was leaning back against his chest. When I look around, I see him grab some other guy’s belt to drag him towards the backroom.

 

The next morning, I wake up with the hangover from hell to someone knocking on my door. If this is Dan again, I will kill him. Which reminds me that I have to finish the poster for the carnival.

But it’s even worse, it’s my mother.

“Hi, Sweetie,” she says and walks right in.

“Mom, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

“It’s eleven o’clock, Justin. Hardly the middle of the night and we need to talk.”

Of course, we do. Mom always ‘needs to talk’. Usually about things I have absolutely no desire to talk about. I shut the door and start the coffeemaker in the kitchen.

“Did you know that your dad left everything to that bimbo?”

How the hell would I know that? And why would I care – especially on a Saturday morning? Surely a phone call would have done for that little piece of information. “Well, that bimbo’s name's Lori and she is – was – his wife.” I have nothing against my father’s second wife, except maybe the fact that she’s younger than me. And isn’t that ironic in view of what I’ve been doing over the last couple of weeks and with whom? Normally, my mother has nothing against her either. Lori wasn’t the reason for their divorce. No, that would have been all the other bimbos he was with before her.

“Yeah, don’t remind me. Anyway, I had Stanley look into Molly’s trust fund. I don’t want it to be in Lori’s hands, so I was trying to get control of it. Which I did... together with yours.”

“Mine? I thought that was depleted? With going to Dartmouth and all.”

“Yeah. That’s what your dad told us. But it turns out that there's still a substantial amount in there and even though he couldn’t get to the actual funds, he was using up the interest for his own purposes.” 

“How much is substantial?”

“Three hundred thousand and a bit.”

I nearly drop the coffee pot I'm holding to pour her a drink. “How come?”

“Seems like Dad put away a cool million between you and Molly.” She makes a face. She always had issues with the fact that her own father tied the trust fund he left for us so tightly to my dad that she couldn’t even prize it away from him in the divorce. I have to agree that it's a valid grievance on her part.

“Wow.” I don’t know what to say. If I'd known that I had that much money, I might have made a different choice when Dad wanted me to do a business major at Dartmouth and I wanted to go to PIFA. But, as usual, he twisted all the facts to his advantage, in this case by omitting them. I shake my head. Why did I never tell him that I’m gay, again? Because it seems to me now that he couldn’t have treated me any worse if he had known.

“The money will take a couple of months until it comes through,” she says, stirring her coffee. “Do you want me to take you to brunch?”

I chuckle. “Now that I’m rich, shouldn’t _I_ take _you_?”

“If you insist.”

“Just let me jump in the shower.”

After my shower, I feel better and the headache has slightly abated. I dress in some decent clothes because when Mom goes out, she likes to splash out, or make me splash out in this case. Just as I’m buttoning up my shirt, there's another knock on the door.  Jeez, it’s like Central Station here on a Saturday morning.

When I roll the door back, I see the last person I was expecting. Brian. My first instinct is to step outside, shut the door and tell him he can’t come in because I don’t want my mother and him to meet. But I don’t. I take one look at him and can tell that he's either still drunk from last night or on something. He’s still wearing the same outfit, too. I can’t send him away like this.

He grins at me. “You look dashing today. Going somewhere?”

“I was.” I step aside and he walks past me but turns immediately and when I pull the door shut, I feel myself pressed against it and he's kissing me for all it’s worth. I can’t help but respond. It’s Brian! And he’s kissing me after he’s been a shit all week, never mind what he did at Babylon last night, but when his hand insinuates itself into my pants, I put my hands on his cheeks and push him a little away from my lips.

“Brian, wait.”

“What? You’re telling me you don’t want it? We both know that’s not true.”

“We're not alone.”

“No problem. The more the merrier.” His voice is cold now.

“It’s my mother, Brian.”

He moves away from me faster than I would have thought possible in his state. Turning around, he looks at Mom and he appears a little pale now. So does she. Up until now, I've never kissed a guy in front of her, mainly to spare her feelings. My mother has known that I’m gay since I was a teenager. She goes to PFLAG meetings regularly and even did a few Pride marches. But somehow I always shied away from PDAs in front of her – or anybody else really.

“Hello, Mrs. Taylor. Nice to meet you,” he says in his most professional voice and smiles at her winningly.

“Nice to meet you, too,” she says and looks at me pointedly.

“This is Brian, Mom.”

She keeps looking at me as if there should be more of an explanation, but I’ll be damned if I provide one. I’m sure she’s got the gist of what’s going on anyway. Luckily, she's too well-mannered to ask outright.

“Would you like to come to brunch with us, Brian?” she asks him instead, watching him with a frown because he’s swaying a little. Over my dead body! Like I’m going to take him to brunch with my mother when he’s like this. Or ever. No way am I exposing him to her interrogation.

“I think I’ll take a rain check on brunch, Mom. Maybe another day. I forgot that Brian was coming today.”

“But, Sweetheart...”                                                          

“Mom. Really. Rain check.”

“Okay. I’ll call you to arrange something. It was nice to meet you, Brian.”

“You too, Mrs. Taylor.”

I walk to the door with her and she pulls me outside a bit by my shirt sleeve.

“He looks awfully young.”

“Yeah, he does.”

“Justin...”

“Just leave it, Mom. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

She looks hurt, so I kiss her cheek to make up for it. My mom always has my best interest at heart. I've long suspected that she divorced Dad in the end to separate the two of us, to spare me the trouble that was bound to come otherwise. Why else would she have put up with his screwing around for years only to divorce him just after she finds out I'm gay? And however hard it was for her to accept my sexuality, she's always been supportive. Well, except that one time when she took me to a shrink.

She nods and takes the stairs, giving a little wave at the bottom before she turns the corner. I stay there for a few more moments. It seems that Brian is hell-bent on fucking up every single aspect of my life, work, friends and now family. He couldn’t do more damage if he was doing it on purpose. Or maybe he is.

When I get back inside the loft, Brian is asleep on the couch.

 

*******

 

It’s a relief to be able to stay at Justin’s for the weekend after I hit Jack. I don’t really want to go home because I don’t know what awaits me there. It seems prudent to stay away for a couple of days until everything blows over and with Michael in New York, I have nowhere else to go. So this is good.

Actually, this is good in more ways than one. Justin is pleasant company. He puts no pressure whatsoever on me. If I don’t want to answer any questions, he lets me be after a couple of attempts, not like Michael who prods and prods until I either tell him what’s going on or deliberately say something hurtful to shut him up.

There are the obvious advantages as well. Unlimited sex, for one. Justin may not be a teenager anymore, but he can certainly keep up with one, even me. We embark on an all-out fuckfest that doesn’t stop until we both fall asleep on Sunday night. I’m even getting used to sharing a bed, which I wouldn't normally consider. But if I’m staying here, I might as well. It makes it easy to continue in the morning where we left off the night before.

Justin is an interesting guy. I don’t remember the last time I enjoyed a weekend as much as this one. This is the most relaxed I've been in a long time. It's fun to play with him. I drag him into the toilet at the diner for a fuck and I can tell that he's never done that before. I can’t work out why he's never done any of these things because whatever I suggest, he takes to like a duck to water. But the most fun is in seeing him having to overcome his initial discomfort at an idea. I always like bending guys to my will and Justin is just the icing on the cake. After all, I do have to call him ‘sir’ during the week. Well, I don’t have to, but that’s fun, too.

But I realize on Monday that it’s all over before he ever says a word. He’s going back to work and all his fears are coming back with a vengeance, probably worse now than they were before. Because, before, he could always tell himself that he didn’t know I'm still in high school or that I would become his intern, when I fucked him. Now, he no longer has that excuse.

It’s just as well. It’s not as if a weekend of fucking constitutes a relationship. I don’t do relationships and I never will. Those are for breeders and lesbians. I’m not getting into something that makes me end up like my parents. And anyway, what about all the hot guys out there just waiting for me to fuck them? Men aren't meant to be with just one person.

If he's ashamed of me, so be it. That’s his problem. I have nothing to be ashamed of. Justin is a beautiful guy and the fucking is off the scale. Plus, where else was I supposed to go for the weekend? I was just using him. If he didn’t have his own place or if Michael was home, I wouldn’t even be here.

“Brian,” he says, when we're having breakfast, “you know when we get to wor...”

“Justin, I _know._ ”

And I do, but it still irritates me. I hate people who hide who they are or what they’re doing. I especially hate how apologetic he is when he makes me walk the rest of the way to work. It’s not that I didn’t know that it would happen. I'm not an idiot. I know we can’t waltz into work together, but it still rubs me up the wrong way. If something needs to be done, don’t apologize. Apologies put you in the wrong, even when you’re right. This behavior is beneath him.

So I decide that if this is how he wants to play it, then I'll play along.I'm strictly professional from now on. No smile, no unnecessary looks, no flirting. He's no more than my boss now. And anyway, I’ve won. He didn’t want to fuck me again after I became his intern because of all those precious principles he has and I just proved that I can have him anyway. I can have anybody. And his principles are for shit.

On Friday night, he turns up at Babylon. Of course, he does. I knew he couldn’t resist. And does he really think I care that he’s here? Or that all these guys want in his pants? What, he thinks he can make me jealous? I’ll show him that I can do with him what I want. He’s not in charge. Not now, not here. So I grind against him on the dance floor and just when he thinks he’s got me, I leave him there and take some other guy to the backroom. When I come out again, he’s gone. Good.

I have more guys in the backroom that night than I ever did before. Because I can and that’s what being queer is all about. I down more drinks than I can remember as well, all paid for by guys who are cruising me. And I don’t go home until the crowds are thinning out in the early hours of the morning.

And that’s when I realize that I didn’t pay enough attention to what’s going on with Jack. He's waiting for me in his armchair and luckily he's so drunk that he’s slow getting up or maybe he was asleep because it's getting light already. All week, both my parents pretended that nothing happened last weekend. At the back of my mind, I was hoping that maybe it would have made enough of an impact for him to stay away from me from now on. I've been as tall as him for a year and if I wasn’t so fucking scared of him, I would take him on, like I do with much bigger guys at school. But whenever he comes towards me, I feel like a little boy again. Like now.

Fuck, I should have anticipated that he wouldn't let this rest when he’s drunk. I back away until I hit the backdoor and when I've fumbled the lock open, I start running down the street. Jack never comes after me outside. For one, he wouldn’t be able to catch me even if he wasn’t drunk and secondly, what would the neighbors think? We're a respectable family. We go to church and everything. Yeah, right.

And now what?I have nowhere to go – again. I’m not going back to Justin’s. No way. I have some money, but that'll have to last me until Debbie comes back next Sunday and cashes my next check on Monday. So I can’t afford a hotel either. Ted? Emmett? Even worse than Justin. I sit in the park, watch the sun come up and pop one of the pills that I bought of Anita last night. Vic introduced us, when he was visiting at Easter, and said she was okay to buy from.

Things get better after that. Life’s not too bad when you’re high, even a life as shitty as mine. I can’t wait to get out of here, to get some control over my life and I’m never looking back. Never!

At eight o’clock, I go to the diner and have breakfast, but that gets boring after a couple of hours, too. So I take another pill.I’m tired, really bone-weary tired and all I want to do is sleep. When I find myself walking down Tremont, after a couple of hours of wandering the streets, I've had enough of this shit. I’ll just go up, seduce Justin and then I can sleep. It’ll be no different from letting the bouncers at Babylon blow me every once in a while, so that we can get in for free. It’s a trade. It doesn’t mean that Justin’s won or that I need him in any way. I just need his bed.

He looks different today. Not in a suit but dressed up in a shirt and dress pants. Nice. I walk in and press him against the door, kissing him. Not quite so tired anymore now. The prospect of fucking always perks me up. Then he tells me that we’re not alone. Of course, he isn’t. I should have known. Why would he be alone? He’s not waiting around for me to turn up, is he? Ah well, I can do a threesome. I’ve done it before. Once. Could be hot.

His next words hit me like an electric shock. His _mother_? I pull away and pray that he's out to her, because that would be awkward and I really don’t wanna be the one to fuck up his life. She’s inviting me to brunch – who the fuck has _brunch_? – and I just know that Justin won’t allow that. I’m not sure if she's quite serious either or maybe just really polite. Fuck! Now Justin will ask me to leave. He has his mother round. Of course, he'll ask me to leave. Can’t introduce me to anybody. I'm certainly not the sort of person you would introduce to your mother.

And then somehow he's maneuvering her out the door. Fuck, I’m really high. I must be dreaming. I’ll just go and sit on the couch before I pass out.

 

It takes me a few moments to work out where I am when I wake up in the evening. There's a smell of fresh pizza in the air and the indistinct fear that I awoke with dissipates quickly. I'm lying on Justin’s couch with a blanket over me. I'm not completely rested, but I’ve slept enough to keep me going through the evening.

My mind flashes back to Justin’s mother being here and I wonder how annoyed he is with me. I don’t even wanna imagine what my mother would be like if some guy kissed me right in front of her. But he comes over and hands me a plate full of pizza and a soda, waiting for me to sit up, before sitting down next to me. He doesn’t ask any questions or make any comments, just watches the television quietly.

“Was your mom alright?” I finally ask, because, contrary to how I normally feel, the silence is getting to me.

“She’ll get over it. She knows I’m gay.”

Thank fuck for that! I eat my pizza and feel contentment seep into me. Nice food, good company, a place to sleep and no pressure. I could get used to this. Then my heartbeat stops for a second. Get used to this? What the fuck? Never get too comfortable anywhere or with anyone!It’s too dangerous to rely on anybody but yourself. And getting used to something is how it starts. Insidiously. What am I even doing here for the second weekend running? And after the week we just had. Have I forgotten that this is the guy who’s too embarrassed and too shit-scared to introduce me to anyone he knows?

I despise him. All that ‘I’m gay but I daren’t show it’ is just pathetic. If Michael was home, I definitely wouldn’t be here. If he didn’t have his own place where no one will bother me, I wouldn’t even have looked at him a second time. This is just convenient at the moment. There's free food, a warm bed and cock on tap. That’s the only reason I’m here.

“I’ll go and have a shower,” I say after I finish eating.

“Okay.” He’s not looking up from the TV.

“Come. I want you to blow me.”

His head snaps up as if nobody’s ever asked him for a blowjob before. I nod towards the bathroom and just walk ahead and get in the shower. He’ll soon realize that this is all about fucking. I don’t want him to be in any doubt that this is about anything other than that. The way he’s been behaving so far, I reckon he’s the relationship kind of guy. Let’s nib that idea in the bud straight away.

He’s there a minute later and he doesn’t protest when I push him down onto his knees and fuck his mouth with abandon. This is what confuses me about him. Mostly, he gives the impression of being a bit repressed. I had to introduce him to everything, from rimming to public restroom fucking, but when he's in the middle of a fuck, he's totally uninhibited. He has this capacity to let go and enjoy that not a lot of guys achieve. He seems to understand that it’s all about the pleasure.

After the shower, I fuck him into the mattress on the bed. Maybe I should go home with guys more often, because somehow fucking seems more intense when it’s not vertical and not rushed. And I could try other things as well that you can’t do in the backroom and alleyways. I wonder if he'll let me tie him up and how far he'd be willing to go. However reluctant he often is at first, we haven’t hit any boundaries yet.

But I’m losing focus and I cannot allow that. “I wanna go out.”

Justin seems a little boneless after the fuck. “Huh?”

“I wanna go out. It’s Saturday night. I wanna go to Babylon.”

There's a long pause. “Okay.” His voice is neutral, but I know he’s disappointed. Or maybe he’s worried again that someone might see us. Does he really think that someone who frequents Babylon will advertise that fact during their coffee break at work on Monday morning? I think we’re safe.

At Babylon, it’s the usual busy Saturday night. Justin gets carded when he’s buying drinks, but at least he gets served. We dance for a bit and attract quite a crowd, which is normal for me, so I can’t tell how much of that is down to him.

“Ready for the backroom?” I ask after half an hour or so.

Justin smiles and nods. I turn him by his shoulders and, standing behind him, point to two guys who've been persistently invading our space. “You take the one on the right. I take the left.”

I can feel his shoulders stiffen and for once, his facade cracks. He turns to look at me in horror or maybe disappointment. “What?” I feign innocence. “You want the guy on the left? I don’t mind swapping.”

He looks down on the floor and shakes his head a few times. And then he smiles that fucking smile again, the one that I hate.It’s a barely there smile and you can almost see him having a whole conversation in his head. Then he looks at me again. “Go ahead. I need another drink.”

I shrug and drag left-hand guy into the backroom. If Justin’s not interested, I can do them both, though not at the same time. That’s too impractical in the backroom. I knew that Justin thought we were here as a couple, just like Michael always does, although Michael really should know better by now. And Justin has to learn that as well. However, I have to admit that it was very tempting when he indicated that he would agree to go to the backroom with me. Fucking him in public would be hot. But then he would never get the message.

I fully expect him to be gone when I come back out, but he's still dancing. So I walk over there, dance a little and drag right-hand guy, who's still lingering about, back with me half an hour later.

This time, when I come out, Justin is gone.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

**PART  SEVEN**

After my mother leaves, I draw Brian while he's asleep. He's beautiful whatever he does and I already have a whole sketchpad full of drawings. It gave me something to do during the week, when I was feeling miserable after work. I can’t believe he’s really here. To say that it’s unexpected is an understatement. He treated me like shit all week, not to mention what he did at Babylon last night.

But when he turned up on my doorstep today, there was no question of sending him away, despite all that and my mother being here. I think even if he hadn’t been buzzed, I would have chosen him over Mom. I would probably choose him over anybody. When he wakes up, I refrain from asking him why he’s here and why he was on drugs when it was only noon.

Brian won't answer my questions, I know that. He may be only seventeen and I may be worried about him, but he's very independent and I have to respect that. At that age, any encroachment on my independence, perceived or real, always led to a fierce defense of it on my part. I don’t need to ask any questions to know that his home life is shit and that he's trying very hard to hold it together. What’s the point of prodding around in his problems when he so obviously doesn’t want to talk about it? I know that if he wants to talk, he will. He’s already surprised me a few times with unexpected information, although I’m not sure if he’s even aware of it.

This is not like last weekend. Something's different today. Brian is different. He tells me to come and blow him in the shower and it’s more like an order than a request. I should really tell him to fuck off. Who does he think he is? But then again, I think I understand. He’s testing his boundaries, seeing how far he can push me before I snap and that just makes him seem very young all of a sudden.

So I do what he wants and I let him fuck me roughly on the bed afterwards, which I enjoy far more than I expected. I thought we were going to have another weekend like last week, with endless rounds of sex, although maybe less gentle this time because he’s asserting his control. He still has a lot to learn. He may already be more experienced where sex is concerned, but he doesn’t realize the difference between control that's imposed on a person and control that's freely given.

Of course, I run the risk of him despising me if I don’t put up any resistance against his will. Brian doesn’t strike me as a guy who takes too kindly to weakness, other people’s or his own. But I want to show him that I’m not giving up on him, no matter what he does. Taking him in after he’s blanked me all week is just part of it. And really, letting him fuck me whenever and however he wants is definitely no great hardship.

So he wants to go to Babylon and I didn’t expect that. I’m a little disappointed because I like having him to myself, but showing him off at Babylon has its own attraction. We dance and I’m thinking I could get used to this, going out every weekend and trawling the bars and clubs, with Brian. The atmosphere is electrifying. Then he asks me if I want to fuck.

I really am an idiot. I always have been and, I suspect, I always will be. I don’t think Brian could have found a way to hurt me more if he tried. It’s not just that he wants to fuck some stranger in the backroom instead of me. Almost worse is the fact that he wants me to do the same and doesn’t care if I do. I have to lower my eyes for a bit to hide the pain. I won’t let him see it, I _won’t_. What did I expect really? That he wanted to hold hands with me? Be with me? Or fuck me in the backroom at least? I have to smile at my own stupidity.

But I’m not giving up yet. I let him go off to the backroom and grit my teeth and pretend I don’t care. Maybe this will get it out of his system. _Don’t rise to the bait, Justin_. The guy who was on the right comes over to where I’m leaning against the bar and asks me to dance again. He’s probably wondering why I’m not in the backroom with him already. After all, that’s what people do here.

When he’s finished with the other guy, Brian comes over to dance with us again, as if nothing happened. Well, nothing _did_ happen from his perspective. He does this all the time. I can see him grin at me before he grabs the other guy and drags him away as well. And I falter. Maybe I’m not cut out for this after all. I walk back to the bar, feeling as if everyone here is laughing at me. It’s most likely not true. Nobody here cares who's fucking whom. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? Anonymity.

It’s time for me to go home. There's only so much humiliation I can take. I've been there before with other guys who treated me badly – although never anything like this – and I decided a long time ago that I would never let that happen again. While I’m willing to make allowances for Brian because of his age, I have to ask myself why I even bother. Do I really think we'll have a relationship if I hang on long enough? Yeah, like that’s going to happen.

 

I get woken up by persistent banging on my door. The clock on the bedside table says three o’clock, so I know who it is. How does he always manage to bypass the security door downstairs? If he didn’t, I could just turn off the buzzer and go back to sleep. As if I would! Where is he going to go in the middle of the night? Did he not stay with his friend Michael before? Then I remember: Michael is away for a couple of weeks to visit some relative.

I pull the door open and step aside to let him in. No use pretending that I might not, I’m way too tired for that. He does exactly what he did this morning, pushing me against the door and kissing me. And I let him, because I can’t help myself, but when he starts pushing my sweatpants down, I stop him.

“No.”

He looks over his shoulder. “Why? ‘S your mom here again?”

“No.”

“Good.” He starts kissing me again and I have to push hard to move him away from me even a little. He's incredibly strong. But I’m angry, with myself mainly for being such a pushover, but it does help me to stay focused. He pulls back a bit and grins at me. “Are you pretending not to want it again?” he asks in a facetious voice. “What is it this time? Am I too young? Too drunk? Too direct? You want me to whisper sweet nothings before I fuck you?”

“No.”

“Good. Because I won’t. And you're hard.” He pulls away and grins at me insolently. I wish I could hate him even half as much as I hate myself right now.

“I want you to go and shower.”

He grins again and presses against me, rubbing our hard cocks together. “Is that what’s bothering you? The smell of other guys? I bet I can make you forget all about that. We’re queer, Justin. This is what we do.”

“This is what _you_ do, Brian. I don’t want to.”

“You sound like a breeder, you know that? Or worse, like a breeder’s wife.”

I push against him again. “No. I sound like me. Have a shower or sleep on the couch.” I duck under his arm and he’s a little too drunk and too slow to stop me or maybe he doesn’t want to because he would never force me to do anything. He’ll push and push but he won’t use force. Without looking at him any further, I go back to bed. The sad thing is that he’s right. He could probably get me to forget all about what he’s been doing all night. I seem to have no resistance at all where he's concerned.

He's talking all the way to the bathroom. “You know what? I’m not your boyfriend. I’m not even your friend. I’m just here because I need somewhere to sleep. You're just convenient. You’re a good fuck. Lucky for you because otherwise I wouldn’t be here. But if you keep up this nagging housewife routine, I’ll go somewhere else. Fuck, going home's better than this.”

Finally, the shower drowns him out. I pull my legs up and roll myself into a ball. I haven’t cried for years, never had any reason to, but I feel close to it now. My life has always just coasted along. And in a way I wish it still did. Because being in love sucks. At least, being in love with Brian Kinney does.

He comes to bed, naked and still damp from the shower. “All clean. Now take off your pants, I wanna fuck you.” Hasn’t he ever heard of foreplay? Or at least of being nice to the guy he wants to fuck? I suppose he doesn’t have to. In the backroom of Babylon that’s probably all it takes when you’re as hot as him.

I lie on my side, looking at him, wondering if he even likes me. Sometimes, I have the feeling that he does, I mean _really_ like me. When he’s not behaving like an asshole, he can be really sweet. Last weekend, when we were watching DVDs, he held me in his arms and played with my hair. You don’t do that to someone you don’t like, right? He’s like a Jekyll and Hyde character. He has issues and when I touch on them, whether it’s deliberate or accidental, he lashes out. Like a wounded animal. 

Now, he’s on his side of the bed, just looking at me, waiting for me to give in. Because he knows that I will. I wish I could be sure that he’s wrong. Then suddenly, he smiles softly. “Come here,” he says gently. Seductively. And I do. That’s all I need from him for now, that he’s nice to me, that he smiles at me and treats me with a bit of respect. Everything else is negotiable. He's far too young to want or be able to give the things that I want in a relationship, but there's plenty of time and I have always been patient.

I know he already had two guys tonight and I don’t suppose he spent the four hours he was alone at Babylon twiddling his thumbs, but he’s seventeen and has a lot of stamina and practically no refraction period. When he puts his mind to it, which he usually does, he can drive me wild. By morning, I feel like I've been kept on the brink of orgasm for hours and yet I’ve also come three times, so I end up begging him to let me come one final time. When he does, I moan out his name and fall asleep in his arms.

 

Brian is utterly irresistible when he's just being himself. He's smart and funny and very charming. There's an underlying seductiveness that's effortless and ubiquitous. Whatever he does, he does with a natural grace that I've never come across before. He knows all this and mostly uses it to his advantage. But it’s when he's not using it that he's the most beautiful, inside and out. When he's not playing games or trying to prove a point or get his own way. That's the guy I've fallen in love with. His honesty and integrity, his humor and cynicism, the care with which he treats me sometimes, especially during sex, and his vulnerability that shines through occasionally despite his best efforts.

When Brian is being a shit, he's devastating. He's very intelligent and he has a natural flair for psychology that you couldn’t learn from years of study. It will make him a brilliant adman one day. But it also tells him where to strike for maximum impact when he wants to hurt. I know why he wants to hurt me sometimes. He has trust issues, which is no great surprise with the home life I’m glimpsing from the odd remark – or bruise. A good offense is always the best defense. I know that.

I also know that I won't be able to sustain this forever. I love Brian when he lets his defenses down and just enjoys himself and I just want to be with him. But when he sets out to hurt me, I know that I either have to find a way to stop him from doing that, or another way to protect myself. I'm pretty self-aware, more so now than I was three weeks ago, and I know that I'm not strong enough for this indefinitely. This will kill me, if I let it.

When Brian tries to wake me up on Sunday morning, I have only been asleep for three hours. He wants me to take him home for a change of clothes again, but I can’t bring myself to even open my eyes. I just tell him to take the jeep and then I go back to sleep.

The next time I wake up is when he’s naked against my back and he’s fucking me so gently I’m barely aware that he’s entered me until he starts thrusting. We're on our sides and he's holding on to my hip to keep me in place. I move my hand over my shoulder to touch his face and he leans over to kiss me. Softly. I didn’t know that he was capable of being this gentle. I wonder what brought this on.

Afterwards, he lies on his back, smoking, while I try to stop floating on a hazy cloud. I know better than to say anything, so all I do say is, “Did you go get your stuff?”

“Yeah. I had a little mishap with the jeep, but the scratches are really barely noticeable.”

That makes me sit up straight in a hurry. “What?”

He laughs. “Finally, you’re awake! Just kidding. The jeep's fine. You really are old if you need that much sleep.”

I glare at him. I love my jeep. “Twenty-nine's not old,” I grumble and throw my pillow at him. He laughs and throws it back, followed by his own and we spend twenty minutes having a pillow fight, which leads to more sex. And then some. The only time we leave the bed is to pay the delivery man for the Thai food.

I’m dreading Monday morning. Last week, it completely fucked us up, so I want to find a way that works for both of us, but we're so comfortable at the moment that I don’t want to say anything for fear of spoiling it. Brian's the most volatile person I’ve ever met. The odd word or gesture can send him off on a queen-out, which is liable to get me hurt. So Monday morning rolls around and we still haven’t discussed it.

There's no talking in the morning, but there's sex, so I suppose that's already one step up from last week. I let him out in the same spot as the Monday before and drive on to park the jeep in the parking garage, where I have a reserved spot. Just as I’m locking my door, Kip Thomas comes up to me.

“Good morning. Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Sure. Good morning. What’s up?” Kip has been with the company for six months. He's part of Warren Siegel’s team and I’ve seen some of his work. It’s pretty impressive.

He looks around to see if there's anyone near us, but the garage is almost deserted. “I'd like to work on your team,” he says and licks his lips.

“Okaaay. Why? Is there a problem with your team?”

“No. No, nothing like that. I would just prefer to work with you. Because you’re the best.”

“Hhm.” I start making my way towards the elevator and he walks with me. “This is not the way we usually do things. For one thing, my team's already complete. You'd have to wait for a spot and put in a formal request. I would certainly consider you.” That's not exactly true. There's something about this guy that creeps me out and I really wouldn’t want to have to deal with him on a daily basis. But he doesn’t need to know that. As I don’t have a spot at the moment anyway, it’s a moot point and there's no need to make him feel bad by refusing. Even if he does put in for a transfer to my team, I don’t have to agree. I can pick and choose my team. One of the perks of Senior Management.

“It would be better if _you_ told Warren that you want me on your team,” he says, just as we step into the elevator.

“I can’t do that. I would have to have a damn good reason to pinch one of Warren’s team members and I'd have to have an even better reason to bump someone off my own team.”

“True, but that shouldn’t be too difficult for you, since you’re the boss.”

I look at him and wonder where he takes the sheer arrogance from. What makes him think I'm willing to do him this favor? I barely know him. His work is good but not _that_ good.

“I always think we should stick together and help each other out. There's so much discrimination against us that a bit of affirmative action is in order, don’t you think?”

I stare at him, slowly realizing what his argument is. “You want me to give you preferential treatment because we're both gay?” I know he’s gay, but I fail to see why that is a factor here.

“Well, that and because we frequent the same places. Like Babylon on Friday and Saturday nights.”

His smile totally creeps me out now, as the implication of what he’s saying sinks in. I frantically try to remember everything that happened at Babylon at the weekend and I distinctly remember Brian dancing practically fused against my back and even sticking his hand down my front on both nights. Oh God!

“Are you threatening me?” I ask icily.

“Not at all. Like I said, we need to stick together.”

The doors of the elevator open and nodding at me, he throws a, “Think about it,” over his shoulder before he steps out. I follow him and slowly make my way over to my office. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I knew this would happen. I just knew it. What the fuck was I thinking?

Cynthia follows me into the office and puts my coffee in front of me. “Tough weekend?”

“Huh?”

“You normally say good morning when you pass my desk.”

“I’m sorry. A lot on my mind.”

“Can I help?”

“Unfortunately not.”

Brian turns up ten minutes later.

”Shut the door.”

He raises an eyebrow and does as he's told. “What’s up?”

I tell him about the conversation I just had with Kip and surprise myself by how calm I sound.

“Fuck!” he says with feeling.

“My sentiments exactly.”

He sits quietly for a while, rubbing the side of his index finger across his lips. “Kip Thomas, he’s that little weasel, isn’t he?”

I have to laugh despite myself. That describes Kip perfectly. I nod and drop my head onto the table. I really don’t want to have to work with that guy, never mind that his demands are not likely to stop there.

“Leave it to me,” Brian says suddenly.

“What?”

“I have an idea. I need a bit of time off. Just give me a job that lets me walk around the place a bit.”

“What are you planning?”

“Do you really wanna know?”

“Yes.” I’m worried that he’s only going to make it worse.

“Sorry, can’t tell you. The less you know the better.”

I think about my options. I can do what Kip asks and be at his mercy forevermore. That's not really something I would ever consider, because God only knows what else he'll want from me. So the only option that remains is to come clean with Marty. This late in the game, there's no chance that I'll escape unscathed. It would be bad enough if Brian and I didn't have any relations since he started working here, but Kip’s information would sink me for sure. There'd be a dismissal and I'd be blacklisted. It will be classed as sexual harassment, no matter what Brian says about it. He's seventeen. Nobody's going to see this as anything other than me abusing my position to force, or at least coerce, him into having sex with me. Not to mention that his internship would be fucked up and with it his scholarship.  

“Justin,” Brian says with that same slight rumble that his voice sometimes has when we’re having sex. “Let me try this.”

Well, it can’t hurt. I nod and devise a task, involving unsuccessful pitches and time expended for the last year, that should keep him busy for a few hours. He nods and leaves my office.

I'm trying hard to concentrate on my work, but naturally my mind wanders. It looks like that money from my trust fund will come in handy soon. Surprisingly, the prospect of losing my job isn't as distressing as I would have expected it to be. I always wanted to do something more artistic, which is why I've wanted the Art Director position for so long. I'm actually more concerned about Brian. What is he going to do, if his scholarship falls through? I can’t see his parents being willing or able to pay for his higher education.

During the course of the day, I receive two phone calls from my colleagues, asking me very politely why I require some obscure information that nobody ever cared about before. I tell them it’s more of an exercise for Brian to get him out of my hair, so I can work on my accounts in peace for once. That seems to placate them and, hey, I’m the boss, I can do what I want. At least, at the moment I can.

I don’t see Brian for the rest of the day. When it’s time to go home, I pack my briefcase and make my way down to my car. I’ve been itching to call him all day, but I don’t know what he's doing and if my phone call would interrupt anything. I can’t for the life of me imagine what he's planning. I just hope he won’t hurt Kip. Not that I would feel in any way sorry for the guy, but I fear the consequences it could have for Brian. He can be a little impulsive at times.

As I pull away from my parking spot, a figure steps into my path and I have to brake suddenly to avoid hitting him. I curse because this is just the kind of stunt Brian would pull, but it isn’t him. It’s Kip. I wind my window down a little as he comes round to the side of the car.

“What do you want?” I snap at him. I've already decided that the one thing I'm not going to do is give in to his demands. In fact, if it wasn’t for Brian, I would have already gone to Marty to tell him about the blackmail attempt. If I go down, at least I can take Kip with me.

“To congratulate you,” he slurs, obviously drunk. “Brilliant plan sending your boy to do your dirty work. I didn’t think you had it in you. He was very good. Real smooth. Gives good head, too. Do you pimp him out often? He performs like a pro.”

Oh my God, what did Brian do?

 

*******

 

I know I’m an asshole. I’m not denying it. My parents always tell me how selfish and ungrateful I am. Debbie says it, too, sometimes, usually when she thinks Mikey got hurt. And Mikey doesn’t have to say it. I can see it in his eyes. Everybody wants me to do or be something for them that I can’t. Or maybe I just won’t. It’s my life and I make my own rules. Fuck everyone else. So, I’m a selfish asshole. I can live with that.

Granted, Justin hasn’t ever asked me for anything yet and he’s not putting any pressure on me. But I know that he wants something, too. Everybody does. He lets me lead, but not like Michael does, following me without question. With Justin it’s more like he’s following me out of curiosity and when he doesn’t like where it’s going, he'll simply stop. Michael would jump off a cliff with me. Justin wouldn’t. Not only would he not jump, he would also try and stop me.

The shower thing is the first time he doesn't give in. I knew all along that he's the ‘let’s be boyfriends and only fuck each other’ type. On the other hand, he doesn’t refuse me afterwards, so maybe I can accommodate him a little. I don’t mind showering off the other guys before I fuck him. Actually, when I think about it, maybe I would prefer him to do that as well if the roles were reserved. Yeah, like he’s ever going to fuck somebody else. Although, he did get that blowjob from Todd on the first night we met.

When I come out of the shower, all I want to do is fuck him. He's incredibly hot and he doesn’t even know it. I saw how the guys at Babylon were all looking at him. I already had three fucks tonight, but I know I can make him come over and over again. I want to. I want to see him and hear him and feel him, and I want to draw it out for as long as I possibly can. And right there at the end, when he moans out my name again, beautifully, desperately, I know I can finally go to sleep.

 

If I had a car, I would never let anyone touch it, so I can’t believe he just lets me take his jeep. I get my stuff from home and then drive around for an hour and a half for the sheer pleasure of driving by myself and being able to pretend that this is mine.

Justin's still asleep when I get back. I undress again and move up against him, caressing the skin on his back. He's so incredibly soft. I push into him and he's barely awake, but still, he’s pushing back against me and then his hand lands on my cheek and I have to kiss him. I never imagined that a slow, gentle fuck can be so satisfying.

I finally find out his exact age and he’s older than I thought by a couple of years. Wow, he still looks like a twink. But I find that I don’t mind either. Being seventeen, my fucking partners are usually older than me anyway. How else am I gonna learn anything, although I'd never fuck anyone who looks old or isn’t hot. I don’t have to. All the hot guys are lining up for me anyway.

I've never spent whole days just having sex like I do with Justin. It’s like I can’t get enough. Since I’ve started going to Liberty Avenue, I’ve done a lot of fucking. Two guys a night, sometimes more, but not like this, when a kiss or a caress or even just an accidental touch can make me hard again in the shortest time imaginable. And if he’s twenty-nine, how come he can keep up with me? I hope I’m still gonna be able to fuck like that when I’m his age.

I don’t want to think about Monday because that's when this will turn weird again and I know it will annoy me. How dare he spend the weekend with me and then go all ‘oh my God, what have I done’ on me just because we’re back at work? He’s ashamed of me and I won’t put up with that. You should never apologize or regret anything. I don’t.

We have a shower fuck in the morning, but I swear if he goes all apologetic and detached again, I will kick his ass. Metaphorically speaking. However, he seems to be opting for not saying anything at all this time and so do I.

I can tell that he's upset as soon as I enter the office, even before he tells me to shut the door. He looks kind of grey, not just pale like he usually does. He'd better not give me a lecture on how to behave at work again because if he does, I will tear him a new one this time. But it's far worse.

I think I know who Kip Thomas is. That guy undresses me with his eyes every time he sees me. And not just me, Justin, too. He’s a creep of the worst kind, on the same level as the Sap. Fuck! Now what do we do? I can’t afford to be dismissed from my internship. I need this. Why the fuck weren't we more careful? I can’t believe I made such a mess. I’m usually a lot more focused about the important stuff.

Then I have an idea. It could work, although I know Justin won’t like it. He's such a stickler for principles. The likes of Kip Thomas don’t play by the rules, not Justin’s kind of rules. You can only beat them by playing their own game better.

Before I start on my plan, I go to the nearby pharmacy to get what I need. Then I start with one of the other teams. It wouldn’t look good if I started with Kip straight away. He’ll probably be suspicious anyway. So I go and ask Savannah Bryson for the information Justin's supposedly requesting. She looks a little harassed because she’s busy and this is holding her up. Smiling apologetically, I suggest she ask one of her junior team members to do it. Then I spend forty-five minutes putting useless information into an equally useless spreadsheet, while watching the men’s room. I have to catch Kip alone for this to work.

In the end, fortune smiles on me. It always does – because I make it. Warren Siegel's even more irritated than Savannah to be asked to provide the information. I smile at him – which is probably wasted because he's very straight – and again suggest that one of his junior team members could do this with me, say, Kip Thomas maybe? Warren thinks that’s a great idea.

So, at eleven o’clock, I end up in Kip’s small but private office.

“What do you want?” he snaps at me.

I look him over appraisingly and smile. “Mr. Taylor asked me to gather some information about how many failed pitches all the teams had in the last twelve months and how many man hours each team spent on them.”

“Is this a joke?”

“Probably. Wouldn’t surprise me the way he’s treating me at the moment. The bastard's just in foul mood today.” Then I pretend to catch myself and bite my lip. “I mean... Mr. Taylor asked me to do this. So I have to do it.” Leaving no doubt what I think of Mr. Taylor and his ideas.

He grins. “Is he riding your ass?”

I grin back. “He wishes!”

“Not your type, is he?”

“Not really. But I have to pretend that he is, otherwise he can make a lot of trouble for me.” Well, that should reassure him why I was at Babylon with Justin when I supposedly don’t like him. And with Kip not shying away from blackmail to get what he wants, he'll probably find it easy to believe that Justin would do the same to me.

He gets up and shuts the door, locking it really slowly so that it doesn’t make a sound. I pretend not to notice and suppress a grin. Boy, is he easy! And dumb.

He comes to stand right in front of my chair, leaning against his desk. I stare at his crotch and I can see that he’s half-hard already. This really shouldn’t take long. When I look up at him, he smiles a really creepy smile. My gym teacher used to smile at me like that for three months after I blew him in the shower, until I told him that if he ever looked at me again like that, or at all, he would soon find himself out of a job because I had a lot to say about him.

“So who is your type?”

I smile back at him and lick my lips. Then I stand up, pull him towards me and kiss him. He’s is no taller than Justin but fits nowhere near as well against me. He’s a bit stiff – and not in a good way – and a terrible kisser. But he also can’t believe his luck because he knows that guys like me don’t usually look twice at guys like him. Like I said: dumb.

I push him down onto his knees and he's eager enough to give me a blowjob. Most guys are, especially the bottoms. I only give blowjobs to select people and never on my knees, but I may have to make an exception here. Unfortunately, he's not very good at giving head either and this is taking longer than I thought. I’m worried that we'll get caught. That would be the end of my internship for sure. I have to think of the last porno flick I watched, but I get there in the end.

He gets up, grinning broadly and before he can kiss me again, I push him back onto his desk and open his pants. When I take his hard-on into my mouth, I'm reminded why I don’t usually fuck short guys. Small dicks, really not a turn-on. At least, I’m not on my knees, just leaning over him. He comes in record time, less than two minutes. Yeah, that would have been the reason I made him blow me first, so that he's so far gone that this is over quickly.

When I stand back up, I pull out the plastic container I got from the pharmacy and spit everything in my mouth into it. He looks very confused, as well he might be. A lot of guys don’t swallow, but I dare say nobody brings their own spittoon.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks, getting up from his desk now and tucking himself in hurriedly.

“What does it look like?” I snap the lid on tightly. “Collecting evidence.”

“What?”

“You see, Kip, in here I have the evidence that you forced me to blow you. In your office, no less, and during working hours. All that jizz mixed with my spit. There can really be no doubt what happened.”

“You little shit! What do you think this will accomplish? It won’t save Taylor.”

“Oh, but it will. See, here’s the thing: I gave you a blowjob in your office and I have the evidence to prove it. And even if I can’t prove that it was in your office, you're still an employee fucking the intern. And I’m only seventeen, too, and still in high school. I can’t help it that I was intimidated by you. With you threatening to get me fired an’ all.”

“I did no such thing. _You_ came on to _me_.”

“Try and make anybody believe _that_. You know how convincing I can be. Or did you really believe I think you’re hot? Now, I want you to stay away from Taylor. You don’t threaten him. You don’t talk to him. You don’t even look at him. In fact, I want you to look for a new job. I’ll be generous.I give you till Thanksgiving to find a new position. If you’re still here after that, you'll find yourself with a sexual harassment suit like you’ve never seen it before.”

He's coming towards me now and I stretch myself to my full height, looking down on him. I’ve had opponents that were a lot tougher than him and he doesn’t bother coming any closer.

Walking over to the door, I pull my shirt tails out of my pants and muss up my hair. For good measure I rub my cheeks hard with my palms to make me appear flushed. If I could pull it off, I'd squeeze out some tears as well, but I haven’t cried in a long time. My pants are done up but I leave my belt undone. It should clank nicely as I walk.

“You're not going to get away with this, you little fucker,” he snarls from his place by the desk.

I smile again. “Watch me.” Giving the metal bin by the door a noisy kick to make sure that enough people are watching my exit, I unlock the door and let it bang against the wall as I rush out. I keep my head down as I quickly make my way to the men’s room. And what do you know, Warren is in there, staring at me as I look at him with mock panic before locking myself into one of the stalls. Then I pretend to dry heave and spit in the toilet a fair few times.

There's a soft knock on the door. “Are you all right, son?”

Son? The guy's probably no older than Justin. “Yes, sir. Thank you. I’ll be fine in a moment.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, thank you. I just need a minute to myself.”

“Okay.”

After a while, I hear him leave and sit on the toilet lid, trying not to laugh out loud. That really went a whole lot better than I had anticipated. I decide to take the rest of the day off. It will look like I was too distressed to stay in this place, where I had such a terrible ordeal. Cool. I can go home and catch up on my reading, which I've neglected over the last two weekends.  

Mom comes home late in the afternoon and starts on dinner. She asks me where I was all weekend. Like she cares.

“Michael’s.”

“Do you really have to go there all the time? You know that the mother’s brother is a homosexual.”

I grit my teeth, but I don’t want to get into a situation where every time I wanna go to Mikey’s I have to fight her.

“Michael’s uncle lives in New York, Mom. I only saw him the once, last year.”

She nods and pours herself some sherry while she’s cooking. Looks like it’s going to be one of those nights.

“I’m going out. Don’t cook for me.”

I walk over to Justin’s place and it’s the first time I have to use the buzzer at the bottom. He buzzes me up almost before I finish saying who I am. Keen much? Upstairs, he's waiting by the open door and quickly pulls me inside and shuts it firmly.

“What did you do?”

“I sorted it.”

“Brian, what did you _do_?”

So, I tell him. I can barely refrain from laughing while I do. It really went amazingly well. Justin’s eyes grow wider and wider as the story goes on and when I’m done, he leans back against the door as if he'd collapse if it wasn’t holding him up. He’s looking rather grey again, too. Jeez, will he just relax. It’s over.

“Oh my God,” he mumbles to himself a few times. “You blew Kip and then you blackmailed him?”

I shrug. “He should count himself lucky. He got a blowjob out of it, which he wouldn’t have got any other way, not in a million years. And he deserves the blackmail.”

“Do you have any idea how much trouble you could be in for that?”

“It’s not as if he’s gonna talk. And even if he is, who’s gonna believe him? Everybody saw me come out of his office, looking terribly upset. And if he says anything about us, it'll just look like he’s making it up to save his own skin.”

“Brian…” he says and then stops, as if he’s not sure what to say.

“Justin, we’re home free. Will you get a hold of yourself.”

He sighs. “Brian, what you did was reckless and dangerous and stupid, not to mention illegal. I can’t believe you used sex to get what you want.”

“Everybody does. It’s no different from letting the bouncers at Babylon blow me occasionally, so they keep letting us in for free.”

Wrong thing to say, apparently, because now he looks even more upset. “You let the bouncers at Babylon... oh God.”

What's the matter with him? Has he never heard of trading? He really needs to calm the fuck down. I step closer and pull him into my arms and kiss him. He responds, eyes closed, tongue swiping the inside of my mouth, his hands in my hair, but then he pushes me away gently.

“We have to stop, Brian,” he says.

“Really? Because your hard-on says otherwise.” How many times do we have to go through this farce? We both know he’s going to give in eventually anyway. This is getting old.

“Brian,” he starts again and there's a sadness around him as if he's about to tell me that my puppy died. “I cannot begin to tell you how upset I am just now. I know you meant well and it worked out for the best, by the looks of it, but I will never forgive myself that you had sex with that creep to get me off the hook. You shouldn’t have sex for any other reason than that you want to. Ever. Everything else is just plain wrong.”

“Okay, fine. Message received. Now I _want_ to have sex with _you_. That’s okay, right?”

“No, it’s not. I can’t do this any longer. This was a wake-up call, Brian. I shouldn’t have sex with you and we both know it. It was wrong from the start and I can only apologize to you. For everything. I was weak and selfish and I'm so very sorry.” 

“This is getting boring. Can we just both agree that we had this ‘oh my God, I can’t believe I’m fucking the intern’ conversation already and get on with the actual fucking?”

There's that smile again. It’s self-deprecating and cynical and it shuts me out completely. I hate it and I want to either slap or kiss it away. “You need to leave.I cannot see you outside the office ever again. I'm sorry. You have no idea how much.”

I am suddenly angry. I would have expected a little gratitude for saving his ass. “Sorry just means that you do what you know is wrong and then try and persuade other people to let you get away with it by saying sorry. Do or don’t, but if you do, don’t fucking apologize for it. Have the balls to stand up for your own actions.”

“I wish I could. But I’m horrified by what happened, what I allowed to happen, how I behaved, what I did to you.”

I’m annoyed enough to raise my voice now. “Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t do anything to me. I did to you. Lots of times.”

His gaze never falters. No matter how much he flinches under my onslaught and the cold tone of my voice, for once, he doesn’t avoid looking at me. I can see every bit of pain I’m inflicting. Good! Serves him right for being such a coward. But I can also see that I won’t win this time. We’ve reached the point where he decides to step back from me and that steely core, that I always knew was there deep inside him, has finally come to the surface. I knew it was only a matter of time until he had enough of me.

I don’t know how long we stand there, just staring at each other. All I want to do is to grab him and fuck the shit out of him, but I know he won’t let me. Not this time. So in the end, I just pull the door open and walk out.  

“Brian,” he says quietly, as I’m halfway down the stairs. Like I’m gonna turn around now. That ship has sailed. I don’t go after people, not ever. He said he doesn’t want to do this anymore, now he'll have to live with that. Fine by me.

“Thank you for helping me,” he says.

I spin round and glare at him. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it to save my internship. I don’t give a fuck what happens to you.”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

**PART  EIGHT**

After I shut the door, I lean against it, but I feel a little shaky and let myself slide down the metal until I'm sitting on the floor. This is so much worse than I expected, so much worse than I ever imagined it turning out to be. I am now complicit in a blackmail that Kip no doubt thinks I instigated and that's not even what bothers me. Kip Thomas deserves everything he got. If he loses his job over this, I won’t be sorry. He's a conniving little creep, who can drop dead for all I care.

But the thought of Kip touching Brian in any way, no matter how much Brian consented and even encouraged it, makes me want to retch. What was he thinking? If they'd got caught, he would have been in almost as much trouble as Kip. And how could he blow the guy without any qualms? I could never do that. And he lets the bouncers at Babylon blow him so that he can get in? Does he have no self-respect? Is having sex really of so little consequence to him? 

I wonder what that says about me. Is having sex with me just as unimportant to him? Maybe I should have paid better attention on Saturday night, when he told me that we're nothing to each other and I'm just a convenience. He showed me at Babylon that he doesn’t care. He couldn’t have taken those guys to the backroom while I was at the club if he cared. And he most certainly couldn’t have suggested that I’d do the same.

But then there were those other times. Like the weekend before. We spent two days just hanging out and having sex. Like most guys, Brian will always enjoy himself having sex and it's one of his main motivators, I suspect, but it felt like more than that. The whole weekend felt relaxed and he seemed kind of happy. Or am I just seeing things because I want them to be there? I want him to like me. Actually, I want him to love me. I need him to, because I’m not like him, I can’t live without love. I doubt that he can either. He just wishes he could.

And would you listen to me! I sound like a lovesick teenager. Or a woman. Women always think they can change their man, with enough love. I know that's bullshit. Guys like Brian don’t turn into perfect boyfriends just because they found the right man. And who’s to say that I’m the right man anyway? So he spent a couple of weekends with me, during one of which he fucked probably half a dozen guys in the backroom without a second thought about me. And let’s not forget that his friend is away for a couple of weeks, so where is he supposed to go? Teenage boys don’t have that many places to stay the night, especially when they're not planning on coming home until the early hours of the morning.

I wrap my arms around my pulled-up knees and think of yesterday morning. He woke me up with the gentlest of fucks. Yes, it was sex, but there was more to it. It was so soft and unhurried. I vaguely remember him kissing my back before pushing into me. And then, when I turned my head towards him and tried to touch him, he kissed me and he never stopped kissing me until we both came together. It felt like he was making love. Or like an apology for having been such a shit before. I'm not deluding myself that that was the ‘real’ Brian. But if he's capable of something like that with me, then there must be more to it. Because I felt loved. Just for a little while. And he allowed himself to be loved.

My heart is breaking – for me and him. I sent him away. I had to, but that’s not how he's going to see it. He's going to feel betrayed. He did something for me, something huge, and I showed very little appreciation. Maybe he did it mainly for himself, like he said, but that doesn’t alter the fact that he saved my ass. I just couldn’t get past my horror of how he did it. Or that it was necessary at all. I fucked up. Big time. I let my selfish desires take over and ignored the consequences.

The truth is I simply didn’t care. Whenever I’m with Brian, all I can see is him, all I want is be with him and to hell with everything else. Even now, if he gave me any indication that he feels the same way about me as I do about him, I would hand in my notice tomorrow and run away with him to wherever he may choose to go.

But Brian doesn’t want that. He's young and he has his whole life ahead of him. He wants to make something of himself and have fun. And for Brian, fun means fucking as many hot men as he possibly can for as long as he can. Why should he want to curb his freedom? Although, I’m not really asking for that. All I’m asking for is love. It’s something I know he’s capable of, but not with me. Maybe not with anybody as he’s so closed off. That doesn’t really matter. If it’s not me, then it doesn’t matter if or when he'll find someone. Or who it might be.

At some stage during the last two weeks, I realized that I’ve never been in love before. All the guys I’ve been with I liked, one or two of them I even loved. But with none of them have I felt this burning desire and love that's all-encompassing and relentless. No matter how hard I try, there's always Brian, on my mind and in my heart. And the idea of never being with him again is tearing me apart. Oh God, what am I going to do?

 

The next morning, I'm in my office early. I couldn’t sleep anyway, so I might as well. Cynthia brings me my coffee and if there was a way to make her stay in the room for the rest of the day, I would ask her.

“Are you okay?”

I nod and tell her I didn’t sleep well. Then Brian turns up, says his usual cheery good morning and compliments Cynthia on her outfit. She giggles a little. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Cynthia giggle before. It makes me want to bang my head on my desk until I pass out. How many seconds are there in four weeks?

I look at him as he’s sitting in the chair in front of my desk, but he’s busy wiping imaginary lint from his suit pants. How can he look better in a fifty dollar suit than all the other guys here who are decked out in designer clothes? He looks a little tired today or am I imagining it? I have to stop seeing things just because I want them to be there. Even if he does look tired, why would it have anything to do with me? Knowing Brian, he fucked his way through half of Babylon last night, celebrating. 

I tentatively start going through the workload for today and he responds easily as if nothing ever happened. It’s not like last week, when he was angry or the week before that, when he was amused. No, it’s like we were never anything other than what we're supposed to be, manager and intern. And unlike last week, I don’t try to change it. I deserve this. This is my penance.

I notice that he takes slightly longer breaks and goes outside for a smoke more often than he used to, but I don’t mind. The room feels like I can’t breathe with him in it anyway. So I try to work on my accounts. I go to meetings. I go to the art department. I speak to my colleagues. I speak to clients. Brian seems a little bored, if anything. And eventually, finally, the day is over and I find that I survived somehow. There wasn’t even any trouble with Kip, who, apparently, has gone on an extended sick leave. 

But if I thought that the next day would be easier, I'm very much mistaken. If anything, it gets harder with each day. I miss our easy camaraderie, his smile, his eyes on me. He never looks at me unless he has to, usually when we're with other people. He never speaks to me unless it’s absolutely necessary and then it’s carefully neutral. I miss him. He's right there and I miss him with a fierceness that's crushing me.

At night I paint until late and then I have to press a pillow to my chest to be able to get to sleep. It still smells a little of him. It hurts. Everything hurts.

Brian has the better discipline. Cynthia's showing increasing concern about my appearance and my slightly erratic behavior, never mind the fact that I won’t tell her what’s going on. If she didn’t insist on my eating some food at lunchtime, I wouldn’t see a decent meal all day. Brian, however, starts looking better by the following Monday. As if he ever really looked bad. He's so incredibly beautiful.

I've spoken to Daphne every night, but I feel like a silly little faggot, whining about my life to her. She has to work the first weekend, but on the second weekend she insists on a sleepover. For the first time since I can remember, she's sympathetic. Usually, she just tells me to get rid of whatever guy I happen to have a problem with because none of them are worth it anyway, according to her. But this time she listens to me obsessing about Brian for hours.

She seems torn between awe and horror over what Brian has done. From day one, I’ve had the impression that she's been more behind Brian and me than she's been behind any other guy I've ever been with. She doesn’t badmouth him at all. And she's full of sympathy for me.

“Of course, you did the right thing. You had a close call and there's no way you could just carry on as before. Let’s face it, Justin, you were mad to sleep with him in the first place. At least, while he’s your intern. I’m pretty sure it’s even illegal. On the other hand…” She smiles at me. “Who could blame you? He’s really something. What about afterwards? Do you think you can pick up where you left off?”

“Daph,” I sigh. “There's no way in hell that Brian would ever, _ever,_ even piss on me if I was on fire.”

I didn’t know that I could feel like this. When I had guy trouble before, I would mope for a few days and then realize that I was better off without them. It’s been almost two full weeks with Brian now and it doesn’t get any better. In fact, it's getting worse. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I have to drag myself out of bed every day and grit my teeth to make it through the day. At work, I have to force myself every single moment not to reach out and touch him. It's torture to sit in the same room with him and I feel sick the whole time.

Unfortunately, it's even worse when I’m not around him. Every night, I sit at home wondering what he's doing, thinking and feeling. Where he might be and with whom. My biggest fear seems to be that he might meet someone to fall in love with. It’s crazy, but there it is and it won’t go away. I know that there's always that one person who rocks your world. You might never meet him, but he’s out there and if you do meet him, then even the likes of Brian Kinney will crumble. I know this because I’ve just met mine. And now I’m going insane.

On Saturday morning, Daphne insists on going to the Liberty Diner for breakfast. _Because she’s never been there before, and because I need to get out and because I need to see people and because I shouldn’t let Brian stop me from doing fun things and because she says so._ So we go.

The first thing I see when we enter the diner is Brian and his friends in one of the booths. I give Daphne an accusing look as if this is her fault and she just smiles and shrugs. The second thing I hear before I see it.

“Sunshine!” Debbie shouts from the back of the diner. I should have known that I would run into her. In fact, I'm wondering where she was the last time I was here. She comes forward and gives me, and then Daphne, a hug and I feel like everyone, but particularly Brian and his friends, are staring at us.

“I’ve never seen you two in here before,” she carries on.

“I’ve been in here before,” I say almost indignantly. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Brian snort at that.

“Good. I’ve only been telling you for a few years now. Come and meet Michael.”

She drags us over to Brian’s table. “Look who’s here,” she says. “This is Justin. You know, Jennifer’s son. Justin, you remember my son Michael. And this is Ted and Emmett. And Brian. And this is Daphne.”

I don’t know who's more surprised, Daphne and I or Brian and his friends. I've known Debbie for a few years now. She's a friend of my mother’s through PFLAG and I've helped out at various events over the years and so has Daphne. I vaguely remember a child being there once or twice some years ago but not since. However, she never stops talking about her son, whom she idolizes. And not in a million years would I have connected Brian’s sullen friend with Debbie’s wonderful son.

There's an uncomfortable silence for a few moments and Debbie, picking up on it, looks from one person to the next, trying to work out what's happening. “What the fuck's going on?”

“Can’t you leave him alone even at the weekend?” Michael then snarls at me. “Or are you back to stalking?”

“Michael!”Debbie says in an embarrassed tone.What?She doesn’t know what a rude little shit her son is?

“Michael and I met a few times already, Deb,” I say pleasantly. “At Woody’s and Babylon.”

Now you can hear a pin drop in the whole diner. Ted and Emmett look horrified and Michael is ready to kill me. Brian, on the other hand, looks amused, as does Daphne, who's making a poor job of suppressing a chuckle.

“You asked for that one, Mikey,“ Brian says, taking a sip of his coffee, looking back down at the paper he’s been reading. “Never insult someone who knows your secrets. Especially not in front of your mother.”

Debbie starts on a tirade about how disappointed she is, firstly in Michael, but in all of his friends, too, although she ‘should have expected it from Brian’. Then she tells Michael that he’s grounded until he’s thirty. And that he should know better than to do something so stupid at his age.

By this time, I regret what I said, not that I didn’t do it on purpose. Something about Michael rubs me up the wrong way, probably his hostility, and yes, I very deliberately dumped him into that pile of shit. I won’t be spoken to like that by some kid. Unfortunately, it doesn’t just affect Michael, but all of his friends, who come in for a collective dressing down. And I regret the most that Debbie is upset now. That wasn’t my intention. She's helped Mom a lot and she has never been anything but kind to me.

“I was joking, Debbie,” I say, when she’s taking a breather. “It was only the once.” Which is kind of true as well.

For a while, she carries on muttering profanities, but then she finally calms down. “Anyway, Sunshine, Brian here works at an advertising agency at the moment on work experience.” Of course, she knows what I do for a living, which is probably the reason she's mentioning it.

“Debbie,” Brian says calmly, without looking up. “Mr. Taylor's my boss.”

“Really?” she beams. “Small world, eh?”          

Yeah, very small. In fact, at the moment, there doesn’t seem to be enough room in it to breathe. Did he just call me Mr. Taylor?

“I’m starving,” Daphne says and pulls on my sleeve. “Let’s sit over there and order.”

I follow her to the seat she’s picked by the front window, three booths away from Brian. Debbie follows us to take our order and when I ask for just coffee, she ruffles my hair a little and says she’ll bring me a full breakfast because I look like I could do with it. Daphne orders her usual pile of food.

When we’re alone, Daphne leans forward and she seems to find the whole situation very amusing. I can’t see anything even remotely funny about it. I'm simply mortified. By now, I feel sorry even for Michael. Luckily, the diner is a little busier than last time, so we can talk without any fear of being overheard. But I still feel kind of sick and a little flushed, so I tell her I need to go to the restroom. I don’t look at Brian when I walk past and I ignore the others as well, but I can feel them looking at me.

In the restroom, I splash some cold water on my face and wonder how long I would have to stay in here to make sure that Brian is gone by the time I come back out. But I know that Daphne wouldn’t think twice about coming in here personally and dragging me out. The men’s room in a gay diner? Really not much of a deterrent for Daph.

As if on cue, the door opens and a guy comes in, probably a little younger than me, blond and quite cute. He seems a little taken aback to see me, so I reckon he was planning on doing something in here for which he’d rather not have an audience. I might as well dry my hands and leave, but before I can reach the door, it opens again and Brian walks in. Now, he must know that I’m in here, because there's no way he could have missed me walking past his table and the way he’s not looking at me at all confirms it.

What he does instead is grab the other guy by the front of his shirt to pull him closer and start kissing him. I'm frozen in place, unable to move or look away, unable to even process what I'm seeing. Then, Brian pushes one of the stalls open, drags the guy in with him and locks the door.

Finally, I can move, now that I can no longer see him. I hurry outside and I would carry on all the way home as well if it wasn’t for Daphne.

“I wanna go,” I say, when I get to the table.

“No, you don’t. Sit down.”

I sit down, mainly because I feel like my legs might give way.

“What did he say to you in there?” Of course, Daphne knows that Brian's in the restroom. Daphne doesn’t miss things like that.

“Nothing. He didn’t even look at me. He’s fucking some guy in there.”

This is the first time that I’ve seen her speechless since we left school. Then she reaches over and squeezes my hand. “He really knows how to stick the knife in, doesn’t he?”

I can only nod.

“On the other hand,” she says and pauses dramatically for a few seconds. “If he feels the need to do something like that when he knows you’re in there, he's definitely not indifferent, is he?”

I know that. I’m not stupid. Of course I know that he put on a show for me in there. The question is what is he trying to tell me? That he’s moved on? For that he would have to admit that there was something to move on _from_. That he doesn’t care about me? Like that was ever in doubt. That he's trying to make me jealous? Yeah, right. Brian doesn’t even understand the concept of jealousy. I think what bothers me the most is that he's deliberately trying to hurt me. That would be hard to take from anybody, but particularly from Brian.

“Your profession is showing,” I smile.

“Ah well, you should have _some_ advantage from having a psychiatrist for a friend.”

“I have _you_. What more of an advantage could I possibly need?”

“Ah, now you’re just being soppy.” She leans back to let Debbie deliver our food.

Brian doesn’t come out until we're halfway through our breakfast. He walks back to his table nonchalantly and sits down. Michael glares at him, but Brian ignores it, just sips his coffee and answers a couple of questions from Ted and Emmett. I wonder how Michael puts up with this every day. It must kill him to watch Brian do what he does all the time. I couldn’t do it and I’m not sure if my prevailing feeling for Michael is admiration, pity or disdain. And then I glance at Debbie, who's watching the group from behind the counter. She looks just as heart-broken. I try to imagine what it must be like to see your son get hurt on a daily basis and be unable to do anything about it. It must be killing her, too.

Near the end of our breakfast, Debbie comes to sit with us, bringing a cup of coffee for herself. I tell her that I never made the connection between Brian and Michael and her. Brian always refers to her as ‘Michael's mom’, which, I suppose, is a sign of respect. She talks at length about Vic and her visit to New York. I know that she's very close to both her son and her brother.

Brian and his friends leave a little while later, shouting out goodbyes to Debbie and I get another unexpected wave from Emmett. He is really friendly and very cute. I have to force myself not to follow Brian with my eyes.

“So you’re Brian’s new boss,” Debbie says, as soon as they leave. “He didn’t do anything in the restroom, did he?”

I shrug. “He didn’t do anything to me.”

“Good. Because sometimes he can be a bit reckless and then he does stupid things.” Yeah, tell me about it! “But he’s a good kid. Although sometimes it’s hard for me to remember that…” She trails off a little.

“Because Michael’s in love with him?” Daphne asks. She never holds anything back. Must be the psychiatrist in her.

Debbie nods. “You noticed that, huh? It’s just hard to watch for a mother. It seems like Brian's hurting him all the time.”

“I’m sure if that were the case, Michael would have found a new friend by now. Maybe you should ask yourself this: if Brian fell madly in love with Michael tomorrow, would you like it?”

I must say my stomach turns even just listening to Daphne. It’s not the Michael bit I have trouble with, it’s the Brian falling in love bit.

“ _Like_ it?” Debbie screeches, then pipes down a bit. “I would be ecstatic. Michael would be so happy.”

“Then it’s not really anything Brian has done, is it? He can’t help who he falls in love with. Or doesn’t fall in love with. You can’t really blame him for that. If Michael really hated it, he'd get out. And if he can’t see it, then that's his problem and there's really not a lot Brian or you…” She puts her arm around Debbie’s shoulders consolingly and gives her a squeeze before she lets go. “…can do about that either.”

“Yeah, I know,” Debbie admits. “Although it would be good for Brian, too. At least, if he falls in love with Michael, he wouldn’t get hurt. God help him if he ever falls in love with someone who isn’t so careful with his heart. He acts all tough, but it would completely destroy him.”

“He may be tougher than you think,” Daphne says reasonably.

“Oh, I’m sure he’d survive and look fabulous doing it. But it would kill him on the inside. Come to think of it, he’s been a bit strange since we got back.”

“Strange how?” This is my first contribution to the conversation. Like I want to discuss Brian falling in love with someone else!

“I don’t rightly know. He seems a little absentminded sometimes. That’s not like him. Brian's always full on and in your face.”

“Maybe he’s tired from working all day.”

“How _is_ he doing at work, Sunshine?”

“He’s great. The best I ever had.”

They're both looking at me, in futile attempts to suppress their smirks.

“Intern,” I clarify. “He’s the best _intern_ I ever had. Jeez, can you two get your minds out of the gutter?” Although they're right on that score as well. Now they're both laughing and I have to join in. It's the first time I've laughed in two weeks.

“Anyway, Sunshine, you wouldn’t have Brian, _he_ would have _you_. He may be young but give him another year or so and he'll rule Liberty Avenue if he doesn’t already. Believe me, I know. I’ve seen it all.”

I can feel myself blush furiously and am grateful when Daphne deftly changes the subject.

In the evening, I find myself dancing at Babylon. I’m not quite sure how I ended up here. Daphne wanted to go some colleague’s party and I really couldn’t bring myself to go with her and make small talk with a bunch of people who analyze you as you speak. She was right about not letting Brian stop me from having fun. I want to go out and drink and dance and… there’s a guy who’s been cruising me for the last half hour or so, not much taller than me, beautiful features, nice dark skin. Maybe this is what I really came for because I haven’t had sex for nearly two weeks.

The backroom is no different from the last time I was here. I have the strange notion that these guys may never have left and may have been at it continuously since then. The guy I came in here with starts kissing me, but I’m not enjoying that very much, so I make it clear that I would rather move on to the main event. When he turns to face the wall, I realize that this is definitely what I came for because why else would I've brought a couple of condoms and some lube?

He's nice and tight and he seems to be enjoying himself and so am I, but just for a moment I look up and a little further along, I see Brian leaning back against the wall, waiting for the guy on his knees in front of him to do his business. They must have just arrived because he was definitely not in here when I first came in. Of course, now that I’ve seen him, I can’t turn away. And – by the looks of it – neither can he.

 

******

 

By the time I reach the street, I'm fuming. What the fuck? Okay, Kip freaked Justin out. I can understand that – but to kick me out over it? And I’m fucking horny, too. What is his problem? So maybe we can’t go to Babylon and Woody’s anymore, but what’s wrong with staying at his loft? I like it there, all that space and the free food and the unlimited fucking. And Michael won’t be back till Sunday either. This is gonna be a really long week.

And it is. Somehow I never make it to any of my usual haunts that evening. I have some food in the diner and then I go home. I don’t even know why. By the looks I get from my parents, they don’t know either, but as long as they leave me alone, I don’t care. Only, having an early night is kind of defeated by not being able to sleep. Motherfucking piece of shit. I can’t believe how angry I am with Justin fucking Taylor.

But when I wake up the next morning, after a grand total of three hours sleep, I know what I have to do. I always know what I have to do, only over the last couple of weeks I've put fun over duty and that has to stop. My scholarship depends on this. I'm not going to fuck it up.

Justin seems to have the same idea and we're just coasting along, pretending we don’t really know each other. He doesn’t say anything when I stretch out my breaks a little and have two or three extra cigarettes a day. I need to recharge my batteries and I can’t do that when I’m in the same room with him. Being extra professional is hard work. Only, Justin makes it look easy. Probably because he never cared in the first place. Well, neither do I.

And then Michael and Debbie get home on Sunday, full of news of Vic and New York and I regret even more that I couldn’t go. At least, Debbie cashes a couple of checks for me on Monday and I’m suddenly flush again. It means that I can go out every night and it’s just as well. Wouldn’t want to let Michael think there's something wrong with me.

So, on Saturday morning, we're all sitting in the diner, having a leisurely breakfast. Ted and Emmett are regaling us with what they’ve been up to since we last saw them and keep mentioning that they never saw me. Somehow, Ted manages to imply that I've been pining after Michael without actually saying it. Great, as if Michael needs any more encouragement on that score.

Then Justin walks in with that woman with the curly hair. Daphne, he said her name was Daphne and she's his best friend. And then things get really bizarre. It’s weird enough that Justin turned out to be my boss and now Debbie and his mother are friends? Fuck! We can maybe fool Debbie if we play it cool, but his mother has seen us together, kissing and groping. Let’s hope she and Debbie never put it together or if they do, that Mrs. Taylor is one of those doting moms who think their baby boy can do no wrong. And really: Sunshine? _Sunshine?_

I get a little annoyed with Michael because all he knows is that Justin and I fucked once – well, okay, I already admitted to twice – and that he’s now my boss, yet he's that rude to him? Justin doesn’t even blink when he drops him right in it with his reply. I'm actually amused by that. Normally, I would jump to Michael’s defense, but he kind of deserves this and Justin couldn’t have hit him in a more tender spot if he tried.

Debbie has a go at everyone in general and me in particular. I know I deserve that. Mikey wouldn’t be out on Liberty Avenue if it wasn’t for me. By now, Justin looks contrite by what he’s let slip. I can never work that guy out. I can’t even tell if he did it on purpose or he really didn’t think about it before he said it.

What I do know is that I don’t want him here. I’ve been coming to the diner since I first met Michael. This is my place and he’s encroaching. What pisses me off in particular is that he walks right past our table without looking at any of us. Now, that’s just plain rude, especially to Emmett who, for some reason, really likes him. Not that I had any intention of even looking at him when he walks past.

The guy at the counter will just suit my purposes. I grin at him and slightly move my head towards the restroom. I have to be quick if I want this to have maximum impact, which isn’t very difficult since he's been eyeing me for the last half hour. On the way to the restroom, I can feel Michael’s eyes burn holes into my back as I follow the guy in.

I don’t need to look at Justin to know that he doesn’t like what he’s seeing. Good. Maybe he’ll get the message that he’s not wanted here. But it’s nothing compared to the look Debbie gives me when I come back out. What does she expect, working in the diner on Liberty Avenue? It’s not as if I’m the only one fucking in the men's room here.

Michael is pissed off for the rest of the day, too. First, he tells me not to let his mother see what I’m up to. Why should she even care? She’s not _my_ mother. But I know that’s not what he’s annoyed about. _He_ doesn’t want to see it. Get used to it, Mikey, because I’m not ever giving this up.

Tricking is the only thing that keeps me going at the moment. I’ve been doing this for five months now. At first, I was a little surprised how easy it is for me to pull. I mean I know I’m hot, but the guys are just falling over themselves to let me fuck them. And every time I do, I feel a little better. I can’t be a total fuck-up if I’m that desirable. 

Then Michael switches to complaining about being grounded in the evenings and, naturally, Debbie is on day shifts for a week, so she can actually enforce it. From there, he seamlessly moves on to complaining about Justin. How he’s everywhere nowadays. How he thinks he’s so much better than everybody else. How he must have been making it his life’s ambition to make Michael miserable. What a rat he is for dumping him in it.

“I think he’s sweet,” Emmett says in his usual ‘I-don’t-care-what-anyone-else-thinks’ voice.

“I agree,” I mutter, just to piss Michael off and our whole group comes to a grinding halt with the three of them starting at me. Emmett snickers and Ted just frowns.

“Did you just say that Justin’s sweet? Did I just hear you say that?” Michael asks, exasperated now. Looks like I managed to really piss him off.

I shrug. “He’s a good fuck.”

“He must be if you went back for seconds,” Ted smirks and thank you, Theodore, for reminding everyone of that.

“Well, you’ll never have a chance to find out for yourself, will you?”

Ted shrugs, trying to appear unconcerned. I know he would jump on Justin if he was given only half a chance – although Ted's had a crush on Michael ever since I’ve known him, which is about six months. I wonder if Michael and Emmett know that. Mikey probably doesn’t, but Emmett's quite astute sometimes and he wouldn’t mention something like that. Neither will I. God help us, if Mikey and Ted ever get it together. Anyway, Michael's waiting around for _me_ , isn’t he?

So, now I'm without my trusted sidekick for the evening. He's sulking in his bedroom while his mother is guarding the door better than any fire-breathing dragon ever could. I wonder how long it'll last. Debbie can never be angry with Michael for long. She dotes on him. It’s very suffocating. Only, sometimes, I think…

I just need a fuck or two and then everything will be fine. Depending on what time it is by then, I'll either go home or climb through Michael’s bedroom window. Strange how Debbie never seems to notice that there's an extra person in the house in the mornings. At least, she never says anything.

I chat with Ben for a while, who's the new bouncer at Babylon. He always asks about Michael when I turn up without him. I think he has a crush. So far, I’ve managed to keep it from Michael because Ben's the boyfriend type and if they get together, Michael might never come out with us again. Instead, they'll be holding hands and taking long walks in the park and Mikey is way too young for that. Of course, Ben and I had that fuck in the alleyway last month, which might not go down too well with Michael. Ah well, Ben should have thought of that before he bent over for me. I did.

Inside, I realize that my scheme from this morning didn't work as well as I thought, because there's Justin, dancing his little heart out. I dance some way away from him, just watching the show. The guy he’s dancing with is called Conrad or Collin or something. I already had him and he’s not a bad fuck. Well, it’s not as if Justin is the type of guy to take this to the backroom anyway, despite the amount of grinding these two are doing.

Or maybe he is.

From the way Justin behaves and the things he says most of the time, I've taken him for one of these guys who're looking for a boyfriend or even a ‘soul mate’. He gives the impression that he finds some aspects of my life, like tricking and semi-public sex, seedy and off-putting. On the other hand, he fucks relentlessly and with so much pleasure that it’s difficult to reconcile the two parts of him. Still, I tend to think that he’s more the private type.

I look on, incredulous, as the two of them march off towards the backroom. This I have to see. I smile at the guy beside me and his eyes light up like a Christmas tree. Less than two minutes later, we’re in the backroom and I lean against the wall, making it clear what I’m expecting and the guy doesn’t hesitate to sink to his knees.

If I turn my head, I can see Justin. He's just finishing kissing the guy and is starting to prepare him. He’s very thorough about it, no doubt worrying about hurting him. And then he sinks his cock into that tight ass and I can feel my own cock twitch. If I thought Justin was a total bottom, his performance proves otherwise. He's done this before. A lot.

He looks up and our eyes meet. I wanna smirk at him. For being here. For fucking in public. For topping. For trying to play my game. But somehow I can’t. All I can do is stare and he seems to feel the same way. He's fucking hot. His moves are completely natural and I imagine him fucking me – not that I would ever allow that – or me fucking him. And that I don’t have to imagine. I’ve done it enough times. And when he looks at me now, it’s like we’re back at his place, fucking each other and watching each other come. And that's hotter than anything I’ve done and seen in here so far. Fuck!

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

**PART  NINE**

For the past four nights I've been to Babylon. All my so-called friends – whom, somehow, I haven’t seen for a month now – would be horrified. Hell, a month ago, I probably would have been horrified at the thought of it myself. But I'm beginning to understand the fascination a lot of gay guys have with tricking. It certainly is efficient. It gets you off and there's none of the usual relationship hassle. It doesn’t satisfy all my needs, but in the absence of a better solution, it satisfies my sexual urges way better than my hand.

Yet, if that was all, I would probably take some guy to the loft or go home with him. But it's _not_ all. Because ever since Saturday night, Brian's been there as well. Usually, when I arrive, he's already at the club – alone and I feel a little guilty about that. There was really no need to do something that vindictive to Michael.

I dance and look around for a guy I like the look of and then I go to the backroom with him. I’m getting very good at spotting the bottoms, who won’t give me any trouble. I always feel a little vulnerable when I bottom, which is probably the reason I haven’t done it much in my life, except with Brian. With him I bottom exclusively. And love it. There must be some innate trust between us, that lets me relax completely. But in the backroom of Babylon? No way.

It usually takes Brian no longer than a couple of minutes to turn up as well. He always finds a spot just in my line of vision or maybe that’s because I choose a spot where he can do that. And then it’s just him and me. At least that’s how I see it. The guys we’re fucking are just props, the real pleasure lies in watching him watch me. We never smile, never say anything, never even nod. We just look and at least for my part, I wish it was him and me together.

At work, we never acknowledge what’s going on. In fact, I'm pretty convinced that he would deny that it's even happening if I mentioned it. Which I won’t, because this is the closest I can get to him at the moment and I don’t want him to get spooked and stop.

 

On Wednesday, I’m called to a private meeting with Marty. I wonder if this is finally the point where he'll be offering me the Art Director’s position. Cynthia seems to think that’s what it is. I know that Tim is thinking of leaving.Everybody knows it's pretty much a done deal that I'll succeed him and Marty has as good as promised me the job if Tim ever decides to leave.

“I won’t be in the office tomorrow,” he starts off and then grins broadly. “In fact, I won’t be in the office ever again. I sold the agency.”

I stare at him. Oh shit! There goes my Art Director’s job because I don’t really have the right qualifications for that on paper and I’m only in line for it because I’ve proven myself to Marty.

“I got an offer I couldn’t refuse. I'll just kick back and play golf till I drop.”

“Congratulations,” I say without enthusiasm. “Who did you sell to?”

“Gardner Vance.”

“We’re going to be part of Vangard?” I’ve heard of Gardner Vance, of course. There aren't that many ad agencies in Pittsburgh. He’s okay, quite successful obviously, but a little pedestrian.

“Actually, this is going to be turned into Vangard’s headquarters. These are bigger offices than they have at the moment, so it’s all just going to be one big company.”

“What about the staff?”

“I’ve put in a good word for all of them, well, most of them, but you definitely. The rest is out of my hands.”

I just shake my head. I'll never get that job now. And I was so close! Couldn’t he have waited until I was appointed? Although there's no reason to assume that Vance will keep any of us on. He doesn’t have to.

Marty apologizes profusely and I’m beginning to see Brian’s point about apologies. Marty's retiring at the age of fifty and all his staff will most likely have to get another job or collect unemployment. What good are his apologies to us? Plus, he doesn’t look particularly unhappy about it. Why would he?

I stomp back to my office and motion Cynthia to follow me in. Brian is idly leafing through a magazine and looks up when we arrive. Sarah has got up from her seat as well, but Cynthia just shoots her a dirty look and barks out a curt, “Not you.” Then she looks pointedly at Brian, but I just tell her to shut the door. Brian, who was in the process of getting up, sinks back into his seat.

I tell them in short what’s going on with the agency and while Brian just looks pensive, Cynthia lets rip with a few choice swear words. Very colorful they are, too. But we quickly arrive at the ‘what now?’ point and get very quiet.

“Does anyone else know?”

“Well, apparently, there'll be a _memo_. Marty’s only telling me, Tim and Parker personally. So once he’s done that, everyone will be informed.”

“What are the chances of keeping our jobs?”

“I’d say, slim at best. Vance already has a team. He’s looking to expand, but I dare say he was after the client list rather than the staff. One or two of us might get lucky, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

We decide to carry on as normal for the day, but it’s proving impossible. My colleagues are coming to my office in a steady stream all day to discuss the situation and there are already phone calls from clients who've heard rumors. I have to send Brian out of the room for most of the talks I’m having, as a courtesy to the people I've worked with for years and, in the end, he just doesn’t come back in. Cynthia tells me later that he's in the conference room, working on his laptop. Or watching porn, for all I know. When I go home at six, he’s already left.

The next day, I get quite a shock when I come out of the elevator to see the Vangard signs already up. There's quite a bustle in the corridors and in the shared office for the admins. Brian arrives almost at the same time as me and looks around with a smirk.

“Well, at least he’s efficient.”

I can’t even find it in me to smile at his sarcasm. Cynthia pulls a face when we say good morning and gives me a list of people who have already received their marching orders in a hushed voice. The list is quite extensive.

“What are you gonna do?” Brian asks when we’re in my office.

“Do? I’ll be lucky if I’m still doing anything after my meeting with Vance.”

“Did you not make any plans?”

“What kind of plans?”

“Find his weakness and use it to your advantage.”

“I googled him. Does that count?”

”Well, that’s hardly gonna cut it. He’s admitted to having been after three accounts for a long time. Warner Industries, Burton Automotives and Brown Athletics. You have two of those. Just make him believe that the clients won’t sign with him if you’re not on board.”

“How do you know this stuff?”

“I had a lot of time on my hands yesterday.”

And then it’s time for me to go and meet the new boss. To say he’s a pompous ass is an understatement. Nice accent though. He tells me outright that he’s fired most of the people here and asks me to persuade him to keep me on.

I tell him about Warner and Burton – what the hell, it won’t make any difference anyway and it can’t hurt. I’m not even sure if these two clients actually think so highly of me as to give me any real leverage and Vance doesn’t seem convinced either. He tells me I have a week to prove myself, meaning I have to land a big account by then.

“Oh, yes, and all the interns need to go. Unnecessary expense.”

“No way!” It’s out before I can think about it properly. “Brian only has till the end of next week to go. He needs this for his scholarship. A five-week internship isn't gonna be enough. I'm not gonna fuck up his life so you can save a few cents. He's the best intern we ever had.”

He seems amused, as well he might be, because he's holding all the cards. “Okay, if he's willing to work his last week for free, he can stay.”

I nod and make my way to the door.

“By the way,” he says, before I quite reach it. “Rumor has it that you’re gay.”

Wow. How is that relevant again? Not so long ago, I would have downplayed this, but I've changed and I really don’t have all that much to lose. “The rumors are true, but unless you are, too, and are proposing something, it’s nobody’s business but my own.”  

He just laughs.

Cynthia is not at her desk when I get back and Brian's working on his laptop in my office. I drop heavily into my seat.

“It didn’t go well, I take it?”

“You take it right.”

“You didn’t mention Burton and Warner?”

“I did, but they're tied to the agency, not me personally. Vance knows that. It’s doubtful that they love me so much that they'll jump ship if I leave, anyway. And I would have to get a job at another agency first, so they can have another ship to jump to. However, he told me I can stay if I prove myself within a week.” My tone makes it clear what I think of that possibility.

“So, do,” he says easily.

“Brian, it’s not that simple. I have a few smaller accounts I’m hoping to sign soon, but nothing that will save me.”

“Get Brown Athletics.”

“Sure, I’ll just do that.” He has no idea how long it takes to work out a campaign and how difficult it is to get face time for a cold pitch. If the CEOs of large companies were willing to listen to everyone who comes by with a pitch, they'd be doing nothing else.

“So, what? You’re just gonna give up?”

“I would need to have something to pitch first.” I'm good at pitching. In fact, I’m probably the best. I'm friendly and can fake enthusiasm for any old product with the best of them. But it takes me a long time to create campaigns.

Brian gets up and puts his laptop on my desk so that I can see the screen. He stands next to me and scrolls through about a dozen pages of a campaign strategy. I move his hand and scroll back to the top to read it properly. Brian is good with words, but his illustrations for what he has in mind are for shit. Having said that, his idea is nothing short of brilliant.

“You did this?”

He nods. “Like I said, I had a lot of time yesterday and I thought you might need a back-up plan.”

“Brian, I can’t use this. This is _your_ idea. I can’t pretend it’s mine.”

“Bullshit. What good would it do _me_? You need it. Take it.”

He walks around to the front of the desk and sits back down. “You have to be quick though. Leo Brown is only in the country until the weekend. Next week, he'll be in Japan to sign a new contract with Yamoto Fashions.”

“You found all that out by doing research on the internet?”

He shrugs.

“Brian,” I pause because I don’t know how to say this properly. “You're a genius, you know that, right? And I mean that in the literal sense. For all intents and purposes, you don’t even need to go to university. Just open your own agency. Because this here,” I point to the laptop, “is the best campaign I've ever seen. But I doubt that I'll be able to get it ready in time. Or even get access to Leo Brown.”

“You never know until you try. There's a condition though.”

I should have known. This was too easy. I raise my eyebrows to encourage him to name his condition.

“When you go to Chicago, you take me with you.”

Of all the things he could have said that's probably the least expected. Immediately, I have several objections, most of them of a practical nature. For starters, I would never get this past accounts. Taking an intern on a business trip would have been impossible even at Ryder’s, Vance is not going to go for it. What possible reason could I give? Secondly, can I really take him on a business trip unofficially? Dancing at Babylon is child’s play compared to being caught doing this. And thirdly, what would his parents say?

But Brian is unconcerned. He tells me to pay for his trip out of my own pocket, since he’s saving my ass – again. That no one will ever find out about him being in Chicago with me, that he'll just call in sick for a day. And that his parents don’t give a fuck what he does. That last one I can well believe. Those two weekends when he was at the loft, Michael called him three or four times every day. His parents didn’t call once.

Cynthia comes in to tell me that Vance has now sacked everyone in Accounts Management, except Savannah and me. He's pretty shrewd, because Savannah is very good at what she does.

“What's Brian still doing here?” she asks.

“He’s staying on for the rest of his internship.”

“How the hell did you swing that? All the other interns were sent home.”

I shrug. “I told him that Brian needs to stay. Vance said it’s okay as long as he works without pay. That’s okay, isn’t it?” I look at Brian, who just nods. Then I tell Cynthia that I need two tickets on the Red Eye to Chicago tonight and two hotel rooms and ask her to charge mine to the company and Brian’s to my personal credit card.

“Justin,” she says warningly.

I shrug. “It’s his campaign, Cyn. It’s only fair that he comes along.”

Brian and I spend the next three hours joining the gay gym on Liberty Avenue and taking photographs after Brian’s persuades some of the guys there to pose for us and he even poses for a couple of shots himself. He knows exactly what he wants and only reluctantly lets me make some minor changes. The pictures are hot, especially the ones of Brian, but I need to concentrate.

When we get back to the office, we take the pictures down to the Art Department to have them blown up and mounted onto foam. But when I get there, I realize that not a single one of the old employees is left. The new ones are all busy settling in and none of them owe me any favors, which is where the whole plan comes to a crashing halt. Fuck! I didn’t expect that.

“You wanna do it yourself?” Brian suggests.

“I wouldn’t know how. Or rather, it would take me too long.”

As we're walking back to the office, I try not to be too disappointed. After all, the likelihood of being able to pitch the whole thing was always negligible at best.

Cynthia has our tickets booked and I’m just about to tell her to cancel them when Brian says: “You could draw them.”

“Huh?”

“Draw them. I’ve seen your drawings. You’re better than good. You have the photos as a reference. Draw the damned things. It will give it an artistic flair. Leo Brown might like it, in case he thinks the pictures are too lewd. He’s really old. Votes republican. He might even prefer drawings.”

Can I finish four pictures in the given time? Maybe... possibly… yes, I can. All we need is foam boards and some other stuff from the Art Department and we’re good to go.

“I booked Brian into coach.”

“Change it to business.”

“Justin?”

“Just do it and put it on my card. I’m gonna go home. To draw.”

 

*******

 

I love Michael, I really do. He’s like a brother to me and I would do anything for him. Well, maybe anything but what he really wants. And even that I'd do for him if I thought for one moment that it would work, but I know that it won’t. I can’t give him what he really needs. It’s just not in me.

So, yeah, I love Michael. I can spend hours and hours with him and not get bored, but ever since Saturday, I feel a slight relief that he’s not at Babylon with me at the moment. He's still grounded, although I can’t see it lasting any longer than next weekend. Until then, I have the best of both worlds. We can hang out all day and at night I can go out alone and no one is constantly watching me. Well, that’s not true, because most guys here are watching me, but they don’t disapprove. I wonder if Michael would feel better if he finally got laid. I’ve been thinking for a while now that it might do him good, but I know his first time has to be a pleasant experience or he'll be crushed. And I haven’t worked out a way yet to make sure that it is.

I know he definitely wouldn’t approve of what's going on at the moment, so it’s kind of liberating that he’s not here. Justin is at the club every night. The guys here are drawn to him like flies to honey. Not like they're to me, where they can’t believe their luck if I drag them to the backroom. No, Justin projects this innocence, that no gay guy can resist. They think he’s easy prey, but he isn’t. He just looks it.

I can see how carefully he chooses his partners, always bottoms. When I get to the backroom he's always just starting and he seems to slow down even further until I catch up. His eyes never leave mine and it’s incredibly hot, like I’m fucking two guys at the same time. And it’s Justin – the guy I’m supposed to stay away from, who told me that he can never see me outside work again. Yeah, like he doesn’t want it.

At work, I pretend like nothing's happening. It’s like a game of cat and mouse and I’m definitely winning. I’ve got this being professional shit down in great detail now. There's not a single word, look or gesture out of place even when we’re alone. Justin is playing along and he’s not too bad at it himself. But every night at Babylon I know different, because he devours me with his eyes and it’s the visual equivalent of how he says my name sometimes.

Then Wednesday rolls around and the fucking agency gets sold. First there was the whole Justin situation. Then there was Kip Thomas. And now this? I only have a week and a half left to go, for fuck’s sake! Really, this must be my punishment for something. I'm not meant to get this internship finished. And now I'm actually starting to panic. The scholarship requirements were quite clear. Six weeks internship or more. I can’t afford to get dismissed now.

Unfortunately, it’s out of Justin’s hands. If he gets fired, then it’s all over. And as if he doesn’t have enough to worry about, all his colleagues seem to feel the need to bemoan their collective fate to him all day. Why don’t they just all pull themselves together and look for a new job, if they’re so convinced that they'll be unemployed by tomorrow?

I find the conference room empty and start doing some research. Know your enemy is always the best tactic. I should know. I had to learn early on to watch those who're a threat to me, to be alert all the time and make plans. Always have a plan. And a Plan B. And C.

This guy, Vance, has talked at length about his ambitions in several interviews. That must be one of the reasons he bought the agency in the first place. Personally, I wouldn't be satisfied with getting accounts by buying them. Too easy. Warner Industries and Burton Automotives, which I know for a fact are two of Justin’s accounts, are on Vance’s wish list. Maybe that alone will be sufficient, but I doubt it. The solution is simple, give him what he really wants and doesn’t already have: Brown Athletics.

The research on Vance takes me two hours. The research on Brown Athletics takes almost the same amount. Most of the information is about Brown buying Yamoto Fashions and the ceremonial signing of the contract next week. It’s a big deal in the industry. So, realistically, the only chance to catch Leo Brown in Chicago will be tomorrow and Friday. Great! Could this get any more fucked up?

I spend all afternoon designing a campaign. It’s pretty simple and very sexy and it would sell a gazillion pieces of clothing, but I'll have to convince Justin first and then I'll have to rely on him to convince Leo Brown. I get caught up in the campaign I’m designing and it gets more and more detailed. This is a lot of fun and I’m really good at it. It’s definitely the job for me. I can’t wait until I can do this for a living.

Justin is pretty easy to convince. No great surprise there because he really has nothing to lose. Cynthia just wonders why I’m still here. It turns out that Justin put in a good word for me. I can tell from Cynthia’s reaction what a big deal that is. Wow. He's fighting for his job and yet he still sticks his neck out for me? He must know that it will weaken his position. I don’t know what to make of that.

We hit another snag with the Art Department later on. Vance is really ruthless. There is no one left to help us out. Shame. I kinda liked Fiona. All these new guys have their own work to do and practically consider us gone already. But I think the idea of using drawings will work. It will soften the sexual connotations of the campaign, in case Leo Brown doesn’t like it. Yes, I think it'll work even better.

Justin drops me off near my home and tells me he'll collect me at eight to go to the airport. When I get in, Mom’s already there, with some of her cronies from church. Good timing. I tell her about going to Chicago and her friends are ooohing and aaahing about how smart I look in a suit and how important I must be if my boss is taking me on a business trip. That’s Mom sorted, at least, because she will take anything that makes her look good in front of that bunch. I even throw in a bit of polite conversation instead of flouncing up to my room straight away like I normally would. 

At dinner, Mom has already told Jack what's going on and he tells me to get on to the union, because ‘these guys’ are taking advantage of me. I pretend that I get paid extra for this and put fifty bucks on the table. That shuts him up. Let the two of them fight over it.

When Justin turns up at eight, I’m all prepared for a quick getaway, but Jack decides to come out to the car with me. While I put my stuff on the backseat, Justin gets out of the car to introduce himself to my father, handshake and all. He promises Jack that he'll look after me and that he'll deliver me back safely.

“You’re taking advantage of Sonnyboy,” Jack says darkly and I nearly laugh out loud. He has no idea.

Justin blushes furiously and I realize suddenly that this conversation can get out of hand in so many ways.

“Your son is very talented,” Justin says. “He'll be a big help. I'm very grateful that he’s agreed to do this. We’re a bit short-staffed at the moment.”

“Well, don’t be grateful. Pay him a decent wage instead.”

Justin blinks. Ryder’s has paid me a lot of money for my internship so far and Justin doesn’t know that I’ve been lying to my parents about the amount.

“I’m getting an extra fifty bucks, Pop,” I say quickly.

I suppose it’s good that Justin and I have been fooling a lot of people over the last few weeks. We're always careful with what we say and are quick to pick up on the clues the other one leaves. Justin doesn’t even bat an eyelid at my blatant lie.

“Well, it’s not a lot for a whole weekend.”

“No, I agree,” Justin says, smiling apologetically at my father, “Internships aren't well paid.” He looks at me and I give a near imperceptible nod and see him relax.

“Well, I can’t see why he has to do an internship at all. The school said he needed to, but if you ask me they have no right to tell the kids what to do during their vacations. Sonnyboy could have earned some real money if he got a decent summer job. It’s not as if he’s ever gonna need this stuff after he finishes school.”

_Don’t mention the scholarship!  For fuck’s sake, don’t mention the scholarship!_

Justin shoots a glance at me, then smiles brightly at Jack. “Schools nowadays always think they know better than the parents, don’t they?”

“Exactly. Kids shouldn’t even have to go to school that long. He could be working by now.”

“We’ll miss the plane,” I mumble.

“Ah yes, I’m afraid we must go. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Kinney. I’ll make sure Brian gets home in one piece.” He shakes hands with him again.

“You’d better,” Jack says and starts walking back to house.

On the way to the airport, neither one of us says a word. I’m still cringing inwardly about the encounter. I've always kept my family life away from everyone else. Only Michael and Debbie know about it. Debbie, because she’s patched me up a few times over the years and Michael, because he’s been to my house and met my parents. But neither one ever talks about it. At least, not to me and that’s the way I’d like to keep it. Fuck! I should have told Justin to meet somewhere else, but I didn’t want to walk down the street carrying my baggage. How was I supposed to know that Jack was going to get all fatherly all of a sudden?

I forget all about my family when we get to the airport. There's valet parking and a separate check-in for business class. We wait in a lounge for our flight to be called and there're free snacks and drinks. Unfortunately, I can’t have anything alcoholic because the airline is aware of my age, but still, I stuff my face happily with food. This is one of the reasons I wanted to come. I want a free vacation and I want to see that the pitch will be all right, but I also want to know what it’s like on a business trip. I must say, I could get used to being pampered like this.

Justin is busy drawing still, but he says this is the last one. He’s using one of the shots I posed for, but my face is mostly turned away, so you can’t really tell. He’s amazing and fast. We can board before everyone else and the seats are nice and big. There is in-flight entertainment and the food's good. Real plates too, not those plastic trays. This is the life! Give me a few years and this will be me all the time.

I want to join the mile-high club, but Justin's still busy with something he calls shading, which is basically fleshing out the background of the picture, and the flight attendant is female. I look at some of the other passengers, when Justin leans close to my ear: “You go to the john for any other reason than to take a piss and I'll leave you stranded at the airport in Chicago.”

He could, because I have no clue which hotel we’re going to and I don’t have much money on me. I know he wouldn’t, but he could if he wanted to.

“Buzz kill,” I mutter.

“You’ll get blacklisted if you get caught. When you have a career, you’ll regret never being able to fly with Liberty Air again.”   

“I just have to make sure that I won’t get caught then.”

He smiles without looking at me, still concentrating on his drawing. “O’Hare. On your own. Or a nice hotel room. Your choice.”

I decide to leave it. The other passengers aren't that hot anyway and the flight is only just over an hour and a half. Most of that is taken up by getting served the food and eating it anyway.

If I thought flying business class is great, it’s nothing compared to the hotel we’re staying in. We have two rooms across the corridor from each other. The bellboy carries our luggage. And the rooms… my room is bigger than our living room at home.

I want this! I want this life! My SAT scores will be off the charts because I'll be studying so hard. And let’s face it, my internship is in the bag, because Justin has another week at Vangard, even if this doesn’t work. By then, he can safely write me a reference for six weeks and if he thinks I’m a genius, what are the chances of it being anything other than glowing?

I let myself fall back onto my bed and bounce back up a bit happily. Then, there's a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Justin puts his head around the door. “Can you help me with the boards? I have to finish off a couple of the sketches, but you could mount the others.”

“I can do that. I’m good at mounting.”

He chuckles and I follow him to his room. There he shows me how to attach the sketches to the foam and varnish them without smudging. He assures me they'll be dry in the morning. By the time he’s finished the last sketch to his satisfaction and I have mounted it onto the foam, it's three in the morning.

“I want to be at Brown Athletics at nine o’clock, so I’ll order a wake-up call for half past seven. We can have breakfast together in the restaurant. Or you can order room service if you like. Just give them your room number and order what you like off the menu.”

“Restaurant’s fine by me.”

He bids me a goodnight and I’m too tired to object. It’s not as if I never go to bed without a fuck. It’s just not common. But I still have to jerk off no matter how tired I am. It’s impossible not to, with Justin just across the corridor.

 

The restaurant food is great. The menu contains anything you could possibly want for breakfast and some that you really don’t. Justin seems amused by the amount I’m ordering. I don’t care. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve eaten anywhere other than the diner or Debbie’s when I haven’t eaten at home.

And then we hit another obstacle. Leo Brown’s secretary informs us that Mr. Brown doesn’t see anybody without an appointment and isn’t even in the office. Justin smiles sweetly and says we'll wait ‘just in case’, but after three hours, it has become apparent that this tactic is not going to work. The assistant keeps looking at us and the lack of foot traffic through the office makes it clear that he really wasn’t lying when he said his boss is not in the office.

“We should go to lunch,” I say to Justin.

“Let’s wait a little longer.”

“No really, we should go to lunch and then come back.”

He looks at me pensively and then nods. “Okay. Let’s go to lunch.”

Outside, on the sidewalk, he looks at the me questioningly.

“Damn, I forgot my phone. I’ll be right back.” 

“Brian!” he calls after me, but, luckily, he doesn’t follow.

Upstairs, I pretend to look for my phone, making sure that the assistant has a good view of my ass while I’m doing it. He comes out from behind his desk and asks if he can help. I smile.

“I could think of something.” I lick my lips. Like I haven’t noticed how he was looking at me the whole time we were here. I made sure that I smiled at him every time I saw him looking. So after about three hours of cruising, it takes no more than a few strategic touches and an invasion of his personal space for him to lead me to the photocopier room. The door has a lock and the copier is just the right height.

This guy understands trading. I give him a great fuck. He gives me the information I’m after. We both get off. It’s a win-win situation and he’s not bad-looking either.

Justin stares at me when I come back outside. It’s pretty obvious that he’s not happy.

“We need to go to Brown’s country club,” I say and start hailing a taxi. When one stops and I get in, he's still standing on the sidewalk, just looking at me. Finally, he gets in as well.

“Please, tell me you didn’t just do what I think you did.”

“I didn’t just do what you think I did.” I grin at him.

“Oh God.” He looks silently out of the window for the whole ride. What's his problem? I got what we needed, didn’t I? I’m a little annoyed with him for being so disparaging. I’m always annoyed with him when he shows his disapproval of me. Who does he think he is? I've seen his mother and I’m sure he had a nice comfortable childhood, all protected and proper. Who is he to judge me for having to do what’s necessary all my life, no matter how distasteful he may find it? I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m not forcing anyone to play by my rules and no one’s forcing me.

At the country club, Justin takes over completely. He knows how to wheedle our way inside and does he really think that bribing somebody with money is any different from bribing someone with a fuck? It’s just a matter of currency.

And then I’m in complete awe of him for the first time. How he handles the pitch is both subtle and effective. He is awesome. The way he talks Brown into even listening to him and then into buying what he has to sell should be taped and shown to all advertising executives as a teaching aid. There isn't a word or smile out of place. There's just the right tone and just the right amount of pressure. Does he even know how good he is?

He may get an inkling when Brown agrees to have lunch with us and is willing to sign on the dotted line at the end of it. And that's the point when Justin really surprises me. He pulls out the contract – which I knew he would have prepared – and tells Brown that if he wants to make sure that he'll get the desired artwork for the campaign, he will also have to sign off on the extra clause, stating that Justin will have to be in charge of the Art Department for this and any future campaigns for Brown Athletics. Vance is gonna shit! And it’s no more than the fucker deserves.

For the first time in my life, I feel high without any drugs. I can barely contain myself in the cab and in the hotel elevator I feel like I’m bouncing off the walls. We nailed the account! My idea! We nailed it. Why is Justin so fucking calm about it? I realize he’s done this plenty of times before, but this has saved his career. He just smiles at me occasionally and I can’t help grinning back. I wanna sing and dance. Or shout it to the world. Or fuck.

Outside our rooms, he stops. “We have open-ended tickets, so do you want to go home tonight, or tomorrow, or Sunday?”

“Are you kidding me?”

He laughs. “Sunday it is, then. I’ll get Cynthia to make the reservations. And as a reward for you, we’ll do whatever you like this weekend. Anything at all.”

I smirk at him. “ _Any_ thing at all?”

He looks back at me unfalteringly and repeats in a serious voice. “Anything.”

Okay, if he’s offering…  I open my door and make an inviting gesture, watching him just walk in without a word. And then my excess energy kicks in as soon as the door clicks shut. I grab his arm to whirl him around to face me. Justin is neither surprised nor reluctant. His arms come up around my neck and one of his hands is tangled in my hair as he kisses me passionately, desperately.

I want to devour him. I'm so fucking hungry for this and I’m trying very hard to get him out of his clothes without letting our lips and tongues lose contact. Finally, I have at least his pants undone and off him and he’s making short work of mine.

“Fuck me,” he mumbles into my mouth. At least, it sounds like something like that. I can’t hear it properly because I still have my tongue down his throat. One of his legs keeps wrapping around my hip and sliding off until I put a firm hand on it to keep it there. After I put the condom and lube on, I push into him while pressing him against the door. He moans his approval.But the angle is awkward and eventually I hoist his other leg up as well. It’s lucky that we’re both so turned on that this doesn’t take long. As soon as I feel him come between us, I let my own climax take over and as glorious as it is, he's fucking heavy even with the door taking some of his weight and we end up in a heap on the floor as soon as I pull out.

“That was fucking hot.”

“Yeah, it was,” he smiles at me and gently runs his hand through my sweaty hair. I find that I don’t mind it as much as I usually do. “Can I do anything else for you?” he adds mischievously.

“We could relocate to the bed and do it all over again.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

**PART  TEN**

My life is resembling a roller coaster at the moment. Most of it is just emotional because Brian seems to blow hot and cold and my feelings are so completely focused on him. I can’t really tell where I am at with him. But the rest of my life is pretty much up and down all the time as well. Yesterday I was convinced that I'd be unemployed by today. Then I got a reprieve and now I'm on my way to Chicago to save my job.

I know that all our scheming and planning is almost completely pointless. The chances of even getting seen by Leo Brown are miniscule, but that's no longer really the point. I’m going to Chicago with Brian, who is the driving force behind a lot of the things I do nowadays. It's his research, his idea, his campaign, but what is more, it's the fact that I don’t want to admit defeat to him that keeps me going. He has so much drive and I can’t see him ever giving up on anything he really wants. I would be embarrassed to tell him that I’m not even going to try and he has awakened my natural tenacity, which seems to have lain dormant for a while now.

And there's always the ulterior motive of being able to spend time with him. How could I pass that up, no matter how hopeless the quest might be?

When I pick him up from home, he comes rushing out, quickly followed by a thick-set man, whom I assume to be his father. I almost expect Brian to jump into the car and shout, _Drive! Drive!_ it looks so much like an escape. But I get out and introduce myself to his dad, who towers over me as much as Brian does. Only, Brian is never menacing.

I glean quite a bit from our short conversation. For starters, there's a lot of stuff that Brian doesn’t seem to have told his parents. They don’t know how much he gets paid or even about his scholarship. I’m trying hard to negotiate around any points that could give him away and things appear to go well. But it’s the non-verbal clues that are the most revealing. Mr. Kinney is a man who expects people to agree and obey. I already know what happens when Brian doesn’t and I have to grit my teeth not to say anything about that.

It’s pretty obvious that Brian is partly scared of his father and partly embarrassed about him. He can’t get away fast enough. And while Mr. Kinney seems concerned about him, or rather the money he's getting paid, he also walks back into the house immediately after our conversation is finished. Not a glance or a word of goodbye to his son. Even at seventeen, I was much more cared for than this by both my parents.

On the way to the airport I hold my tongue because all I feel is a great sadness for Brian and he wouldn’t thank me for it. And then Brian’s capacity for disregarding the things he doesn’t want to deal with kicks in and he thoroughly enjoys himself at the airport and on the plane. I wish I wasn’t so busy with finishing the drawings, so I could enjoy his enthusiasm for the more expensive things in life.

Of course, he wants to do the predictable, but he toes the line easily enough. It's very impractical to attempt to have sex on a short flight. Too risky. And we're there before he's even finished the film he’s watching. The hotel seems to meet with his approval as well. It should. It’s the Four Seasons.

But we have work to do and Brian turns out to be good with his hands – as if I didn’t already know that. His work is very precise and neat and I’m glad I don’t have to do the mounting and varnishing myself after I finish the pictures. It's getting late and I’m very tired – not so tired that I would say no to him if he asked but tired enough to gratefully sink into my bed when he doesn’t.

The next day, we waste more than three hours sitting around Leo Brown’s assistant’s office. I knew this wouldn’t work, but I was hoping it would, for Brian’s sake more than my own. He deserves this to be a success. Brian finally urges us to leave, but I can tell from the way he says it that he has something up his sleeve. So I decide to go outside with him to hear it, when, almost immediately, he turns around to go back upstairs for his phone. I think I’m fooled for about thirty seconds and then I’m frozen in place, not knowing what to do.

I want to go up there and drag him out by the ear like a naughty child. It looks like he needs another lecture about which situations are appropriate for sex and which aren’t. But the last one obviously didn’t have much impact, so another one would probably do no good either. And if I go up there, do I really want to see Brian with some other guy? Not really my favorite sight when he’s not eye-fucking me at the same time.

For about five minutes, I simply hope that I’m mistaken, but as time stretches on, I know that I'm not. Then he bounces back out and goes to hail a taxi. I almost beg him to lie to me about what he was doing up there, but his tone says it all. Looking out of the window, I wonder how many more times I will allow him to fuck someone to help me out. Or if there’s really anything I can do to prevent it. Or why the hell I feel jealous. It’s not as if the guy means anything to him. But then again, neither do I.

I always knew that if I ever got some face time with Leo Brown, it would be a done deal. I'm very good at what I do, otherwise I wouldn’t be Senior Manager over people who have way better campaign ideas than mine. And quite frankly, Brian’s vision for this campaign practically sells itself. It’s that good.

It is nice to see Brian excited when we get out of the country club. I feel a certain indulgence towards him because his glee is so apparent under all that projected nonchalance and I offer a stay until the end of the weekend, which I would have done even if we hadn't been successful. I will probably have to pay for this weekend myself, but I don’t mind that and it’s not as if I’m short of money, nor am I likely to be in the near future now.

I have a strong desire to make Brian happy this weekend. He has this aura of sadness around him all the time. He hides it well, but it's there and when I look at him, under all that bravado and sarcastic humor and that rather attractive exterior, what I see is loneliness. He's always slightly removed, one of those people who are alone in a crowd even when they're the center of the attention of that crowd, as he so often is. Having that attention only means that he can never really relax.

When he's with his friends, he’s always trying so hard to pretend that he doesn’t care. Except with Michael. But Michael is in love with him and generally admires him, so no matter what he does, he can feel accepted. Maybe that's the attraction of the relationship, because I could sense a lot of disapproval from his father. Brian must be crying out for someone who doesn’t judge him all the time.

But we're away from Pittsburgh. Nobody knows us here and we can do whatever the hell we want. And Brian has this appreciation for the finer things in life and, for once, he doesn’t have to worry about his family or anybody else back home. I want him to enjoy himself and relax. He’s earned it. And I’m willing to do anything for that.

If I'd known that all I have to do for him to fuck me is offer myself, I would have done it a long time ago. And what a fuck it is! Fast, desperate and against the door. I may not be tall, but I’m amazed that he can keep me up off the floor long enough for both of us to come. Not that it takes very long because I’m always overcome with desire as soon as he touches me and he's still a teenager.

When we decide to do it all over again in more comfortable surroundings, I suggest that we relocate to my room. I get dressed and walk over to unlock my door, while he grabs some casual clothes and follows me – without bothering to put his pants back on. Oh God, will I ever get used to his devil-may-care attitude? I make extra sure that my room is locked and hang up my suit properly. When I turn round, he is naked on the bed, beckoning me with one hand.

We spend the rest of the afternoon in bed, fucking and talking. He wants to know everything there is to know about the business trips I’ve taken over the years. Maybe it’s due to our different backgrounds, but I realize that money and success are far more important to him than they ever were – or ever will be – to me. I’ve never really had to go without anything at all. Nor did I feel any great need to get away from my family. He does, and who could blame him?

I try not to feel hurt when he talks about leaving for New York as soon as possible. It’s not as if we are a couple. I suppose it’s just because I always had a relationship with the guys I slept with before I met him. It’s strange to have sex with someone – repeatedly – who doesn’t even pretend that I fit into his future in any shape or form at all.

“So we'll do anything I want?” he asks.

“Sure, as long as it’s legal.”

“Spoilsport.”

I chuckle and so does he. As I’m laying sideways on the bed with my head against his stomach, I can feel his body ripple, making me laugh more.

“I wanna move into this room. It’s much nicer than mine.”

Okay, that I didn’t expect, although I have to admit that my room is much more luxurious than his, being a suite. “That’s because mine's paid for by Vangard and I’m paying for yours out of my own pocket.” Although I wouldn’t have minded if Cynthia had booked the same type of room for him. Ah well, I suppose I can live with a smaller room. In this place, even the smaller rooms are not exactly shabby.

“You could cancel my room. We don’t really need it.”

Oh. Again, not what I expected. “Okay.” I turn my head to smile at him, but he’s too busy smoking and looking up at the ceiling – naturally. Not that I will actually cancel his room, because if this ever comes out, I may have to prove that we had separate rooms. He might like to live his life without a safety net, but I don’t.

“I wanna order some room service.”

“Go ahead. I’ll have a shower.” I make my way into the bathroom and he follows me in a couple of minutes later. I could get used to showering together all the time. There's something very intimate about it.

Afterwards, he goes across to his room – thankfully dressed this time – and collects his stuff. I watch him put everything away in the huge, almost empty wardrobe and try not to get too excited about this. It doesn’t mean anything, it’s temporary. When the food arrives, I have to chuckle at the amount he’s ordered.

We watch some TV while we eat and I find myself ravenous. I’m a sporadic eater. I can go through long periods with very little food and then stuff myself with anything I can lay my hands on for a while. Brian eats without paying much attention to what he eats, he’s more interested in surfing the channels.

Afterwards, he wants to go clubbing, which doesn’t come as a huge surprise. It would be a waste to spend a weekend in Chicago and stay in the bedroom the whole time, although I wouldn’t be opposed to that either. I've been to Chicago before, so I know some of the clubs here. It strikes me as ironic now that I’ve always gone out clubbing when I’m on business trips, yet in Pittsburgh I never did. I really have listened to my ‘friends’ for far too long, because I always enjoyed myself on my business trips, even without tricking. I just never thought about it before.

It’s nearly midnight before we head out, but still, the first club we go to is almost empty. The second one is better, much larger, much more crowded, and filled with incredibly hot guys. I'm relieved that Brian gets carded as well, because it always embarrasses me when I have to show my ID at my age. At the bar, I insist on paying for the drinks because I don’t want any trouble, although his ID is very convincing. Anyway, the prices are probably a little out of his range.

Then Brian disappears somewhere and after ten minutes of waiting, I decide that he's probably perfectly safe on his own. Unlike me, he does this all the time at home. I didn't expect him to stick with me all evening anyway, so I’m not too disappointed. Okay, maybe a little, but it's stupid, because I want Brian to enjoy himself, any way he chooses. This is what he does. I knew that before we came out.

I take some guy, who’s asking me to dance, up on his offer. His face is a little too pale for it not to be make-up and his hair is jet-black, creating a striking contrast. His moves are good, too, and after a couple of songs, he's practically grinding against me from behind. I don’t mind it too much. There’s no backroom in the club, so things won’t get out of hand.

Suddenly, I feel someone yanking me forward a little by the arm and then Brian has his arms on my shoulders and I can hear him telling my previous dance partner to fuck off.

“Sorry,” the guy says. “I didn’t know he was taken.”  

“And now you know,” Brian snarls.

I keep my eyes on his chest and try not to grin inanely. I’ve never seen Brian in proprietary mode before. Usually, he doesn’t care what I do with other guys or he even encourages it. I've had an aversion against my partners telling me what I can and cannot do ever since I went out with a guy named Curt for four months some years ago. Curt was insanely jealous and practically growled at people if I even talked to them. I broke it off with him when he told me that I was spending too much time with Daphne. But Brian can growl at as many people as he wants to, as far as I'm concerned. 

We return to the hotel after another couple of hours of dancing with each other. We're both a little drunk and he's groping me on the long elevator ride to the 35th floor and all the way down the corridor to our room. Luckily, there's no one about at this time of night. In the room, he pushes me against the door and kisses me, long and deep.

“I’d rather you didn’t try to lift me up just now,” I chuckle a little breathlessly, remembering our afternoon fuck in his room. With the state we're in, it would probably result in an injury for one or both of us.

“Wasn’t going to,” he murmurs. “Want something else.” He kisses me and starts to undress me, but when I try to do the same to him, he bats my hands away. So I let him take over and I end up being pressed naked against the slightly cold wood of the door. It makes me shiver, only partly from the cold, and partly from Brian rubbing his body against mine while he's still in his clothes.

“I wanna tie you up,” he clarifies his last remark and, from one second to the next, I’m sober.

What? “Not a good idea when you’re drunk.”

He moves his head back and looks at me. His gaze is steady and his eyes are clear. I’m trying to remember how many drinks he’s had and although he’s had a couple more than me, he's probably no drunker than I am, maybe even less. It’s a matter of tolerance.

“You said _anything_ ,” he says quietly. And then, to add some levity, “At least it’s not illegal.”

I smile at that and nod. He looks at me for a while longer and his smile's softer than I've ever seen it. Then he takes me over to the bed by my hand and kisses me again, before gently pushing me down on it. I scoot up a bit and, laying on my back completely naked, I watch him undress slowly.

When guys know how hot they are, it's usually a bit off-putting. I’m convinced that Brian knows very well how beautiful he is, but it never tips over into self-obsession. Yes, he’s stripping in front of my eyes, enjoying the attention, but he’s doing it for me, to turn me on. Not really very difficult at the moment, the anticipation alone is making me rock hard.

He goes to the wardrobe and returns with two of my ties. A stray thought enters my head about why we're using my ties, which are probably ten times as expensive as his, but, unsurprisingly, it's fleeting. He ties first one of my wrists, then the other and then secures them to the bedposts.

I know that I probably wouldn’t be doing this if I hadn’t been drinking. This is not something that I would have allowed anybody to do to me ever before. Not that I haven’t thought about it or desired it, but the trust it requires was just never there before. Or maybe the love was never there before.

Now, Brian is probably the worst person to trust. He’s still so young and he has a mischievous streak a mile wide. And, really and truly, I haven’t known him that long. But he's been so uncharacteristically possessive all evening that I feel completely safe with him. I know he would never hurt me physically, or anybody else for that matter. But there are so many other things that can go wrong with this. Why doesn’t that worry me more? It _should_ worry me more, but the only reaction that I have to feeling the ties around my wrists is a pleasant spike in my anxiety levels and it manifests itself in an increased arousal. As if that was really needed.

“Are you alright?” He runs his finger gently under the ties to check how tight they are.

I nod. “We need a safe word.”

“What?” He sits up and stares at me. “You don’t trust me?”

It’s strange that he’s so surprised and almost offended by it, because he doesn’t trust anybody, not really. “It’s for you,” I say as gently as I can.

“For me? Why would _I_ need one? _You’re_ the one in restraints.”

I sigh. “It’s so that you don’t need to worry about hurting me the whole time. As long as I don’t say it, you’re good. You'll enjoy it more that way. Put your mind at ease.”

“You’ve done this before?” He looks a little disappointed.

“No. I've definitely never done this before. Have you?”

“Sure.” He shrugs and, for once, he’s a terrible liar.

“It’s Brown Athletics. The safe word.”

He laughs at that.

 

******* 

 

Coming back to the hotel from the club, all I want to do is fuck Justin into the mattress, or any other surface, vertical, horizontal or anything in between. The club didn’t have a backroom, which was fucking annoying because I've been itching to fuck him in public since we started eye-fucking each other every night. But with our current situation, I doubt that it would be a good idea to do that at Babylon. It’s best not to be too reckless. There's too much at stake and my internship is almost over, so why risk it? Justin would never go for it anyway.

I strip him naked just inside the room. I enjoy how it makes me feel to be dressed while he's completely naked.

“I wanna tie you up.”

I can feel him freeze and I enjoy that, too. He's surprisingly compliant most of the time, but it always has this feeling of indulgence attached to it, like he’s letting me play. I’m not a fucking kid. Kids don’t play games like this. 

I want to own him completely, just once. I want to reach that core that he’s withholding from me, that last bit of resistance that he won’t give up. Sometimes it comes through in the way he moans my name just before he comes, but I can only ever glimpse it and then it’s gone. Maybe if I can get there, I can stop fucking him. Because this is not really me. For me, fucking is always about getting off in the most pleasurable way. The other guy is just a means to that end and the only reason I make sure he has a good time is because my pride won’t allow anything else. I wanna be the best fuck ever for every guy I fuck. Once I’ve done that, I can move on to the next.

I have no doubt that I’m the best he’s had, but somehow it’s not enough. This is different and I can’t work out why. Every time I think I’ve won a round, things are back to square one the next time I see him and I have to start over again. Not that fucking him repeatedly is any great hardship, but that comes with its own pitfalls. It's inevitable that you talk at some point and then it might turn out that you actually like the guy, but you can’t become friends because the fucking gets in the way. Or he falls in love with you and then has all kinds of expectations.

With Justin the situation is even more complicated. I can’t walk away because I see him at work every day. Of course, I want to fuck him again after spending so much time with him. Who wouldn’t? He’s hot. And if I ended up liking him a little that’s just down to seeing him every day, too. It’s not as if I was planning on it.

Sometimes I think it would be nice if he could hang out with us. He's much better company than Ted and Emmett and those two like him already. Well, Emmett likes him. Ted can’t make up his mind whether to like him because Emmett does and because I always give the impression that I don’t, when we meet him, or to hate him because of Michael, who makes his dislike quite obvious. Yeah, Michael would have a fit if I suggested that we admit Justin into our small circle. Which I won’t, of course. Can’t be friends after we fucked.

And the real problem is that I’m still not finished with him. Everything is different with him. Fucking him is on a whole different level. Sometimes I look at him at work and I remember something we did and I can barely stop myself from taking him on his desk. All the other guys I’ve fucked hold no interest for me afterwards. It’s not a conscious effort on my part to avoid complications. It just happens. I see them again and it's as if they aren’t there because they’ve dropped off my list of fuckable guys. For some reason, Justin is still at the top of it.

I check over his wrists to make sure the restraints aren't too tight. The last thing I wanna do is hurt him. That’s not what this is about. It’s not some fucked up S&M game. I don’t like pain, neither for myself, nor for others. I’ve had and seen enough of it to last me a lifetime. If you’re looking to get hurt, don’t come to me. A little playful spanking is the furthest I would ever go.

No, this is about control, about having the upper hand and, I suppose, from his point of view, it’s about trust. Which he doesn’t seem to have much of because he’s asking for a safe word. Might as well give up the whole idea if that’s the case. But then I realize what he’s trying to tell me. If he has a safe word, I don’t need to worry about him so much because I'll know that he’s alright with what I’m doing as long as he doesn’t use it. And it makes me wonder if… “You’ve done this before?”

I don’t know what’s bugging me about that idea and why I’m so relieved that he hasn’t. I’ve introduced Justin to some stuff already and it's always more fun when it’s his first time. He has such a beautiful awed expression on his face when he does something he enjoys that he’s never done before. I have a suspicion that he’s living out quite a few fantasies with me. This is one of them, judging by the state of his cock. I can relate. It’s one of mine as well and a first for me, too.

I lay my body on top of his and kiss him thoroughly. He's moaning already and dry-humping me and neither one of us is going to last long. I move my lubed hand between our bodies and jerk our cocks together until we both come, groaning into the kiss. Right, that takes care of that. Now we can begin. 

 

It's noon by the time I wake up. A little disoriented at first, it takes me a bit to realize where I am and that it was the food trolley that disturbed my sleep. I feel pleasantly worn out, but when I remember what happened last night, I find my cock stirring. Opening one eye, I see Justin in a pristine white hotel bathrobe setting the table in the other room.

“Sorry. Did I wake you up?” he asks.

“’S okay. Come and take care of me.”

He smiles and comes over, shedding his robe by the foot of the bed. His usually flawless skin is peppered with red marks, where I sucked on it and it’s lucky that he'll be wearing a collared shirt at work on Monday. The faint bite marks that were there last night have already faded. He plants a kiss on the tip of my cock. “Is this what you meant?”

I nod and tangle my hands in his hair to make sure he doesn’t get any ideas of moving his head anywhere else. This was the only thing missing last night. It’s difficult to give a stellar blowjob when you’re lying on your back and have your hands tied. But he’s making up for it now and I come quickly as I always do when he’s sucking me off.

He scoots up a little to lie next to me. “Do you want to get up? You don’t have to.”

“If you give me a minute I’ll show my appreciation.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he chuckles. “I’m a little sore, so I’d like to give my ass a rest until tonight if you don’t mind.”

I feel a little uneasy about that – maybe I did get a little carried away – and now I'm glad that he had a way-out all the way through last night, or rather this morning.

His hand lands on my thigh and squeezes a little in what I assume is meant to be reassurance. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.” He starts to get up, but I push him back down and move down his body to return the blowjob.

When I've brought him off, he sighs and then grins. “I meant food.” 

We decide to shower first, so I feel a bit more human at the breakfast table. Justin tells me he got up because he wants to go out. I’m all for it until he says he wants to visit the Art Institute of the Chicago Museum. An art gallery? Really?

“We don’t have to go. I said I’d do what you want. We can do something else. Or I can go on my own, if you want to go out on your own.”

I don’t much like that idea either. Besides, I don’t have any idea of what I really want to do, so in the end, we find ourselves at the Chicago Museum. It’s not as boring as I imagined. I was expecting that I'd be scoping out the local talent, but I find myself absorbed by the art, or rather by Justin’s comments. He certainly knows a lot about it off the top of his head and he has an enthusiasm for art that rivals his enthusiasm for sex.

Later on, we take a walk through the park to get to the promenade, but when it starts raining, we decide to seek shelter in a restaurant. The place is top notch, way out of my price range, in fact, I’ve never been in a restaurant like this. We're dressed a little too casually, but they let us in because it’s early and Justin has a way with people. He smiles that bright smile that he has and apologizes for bringing the place ‘into disrepute’. And gets us a table with a view.

It occurs to me during the dinner that Justin is the only person I really speak to apart from Mikey. Not literally, of course, but I've always been quiet and I don’t make friends easily, mainly because I despise most people. I have dozens of acquaintances whom I can chat with about various subjects but no one I actually talk to.

Talking to Justin is different from talking to Mikey. Mikey is my best friend and has been for over three years now. I can talk to him for hours, but the subjects are limited. There are films and comics, music and gossip, and guys, of course, but that’s about it. His limited range doesn’t bother me as such because I like his enthusiasm and his amicability. I also like his adoration, but it makes the conversation a little one-sided. Mikey agrees to whatever I propose or proclaim. I could tell him that I've decided to become a serial killer and he would applaud me or at least make excuses for me.

Justin rarely agrees with me without a discussion. He challenges every word that comes out of my mouth, always questioning, all the bullshit that I spout for effect and everything that I actually mean. His range of interests is wide and yet we don’t seem to agree on anything but the basic philosophy of life. He likes different films, different books, different music, only our opinions on politics and religion are almost identical.

And yet, at no point since I met him have I felt criticized or belittled. He listens to me intently, as if every word I say is important to him and he discusses things with me because my opinion matters to him, even if – or maybe because – it’s not his own. Michael loves and worships me, but it's with Justin that I feel completely accepted. He doesn’t make excuses for me, but there's no pressure. His approval is earned, not given regardless, which makes it more worthwhile. He treats me like an adult.

Dinner takes less than an hour because the staff want us to leave before the serious dinner crowd arrives. Justin is quite happy to oblige. After paying with his credit card, he leaves quite a large tip in cash. I listen to his thoughts on how to tip properly – apparently too much is just as bad as too little – and realize how much I’m learning on this trip that has nothing to do with the job. He already recommended to acquire a basic knowledge of art to entertain clients, but then he would. 

On a whim, I pull him into a cinema and, predictably, we argue for five minutes about which movie to see, until I remind him that he told me I could decide for this weekend. Halfway through the film, I regret my choice. This is something I would watch with Mikey and even though Justin seems amused, I decide that I have to make up for this terrible decision with a make-out session. Neither one of us really catches the rest of the film and we smile back at the people glaring at us as they're leaving. Fucking homophobic pricks! It’s not as if we went down on each other in the dark. A little groping doesn’t count.

“Do you want to go to a club?” he asks, as we're walking towards the main street to catch a cab.

“Nah, not really. We could go back to the hotel and have a drink at the bar.”

“Not likely,” he chuckles. “The hotel staff know your age. You won’t get served there.”

“Then we go upstairs and drink the mini bar dry.”

In the end, we order some beers from the bar in the hotel and have them delivered to our room. But we only get through one bottle before we’re back to fucking anyway and don’t leave the bed for the rest of the night.

 

At breakfast the next morning, we both yawn a lot while we're waiting for the food to arrive at our table. The weekend has gone incredibly quick. We have to catch a flight back to Pittsburgh this evening and the thought doesn't make me happy at all. Who in their right mind would want to go back there anyway? So I ignore it for now.

“Do you want to go shopping after breakfast?”

I shrug. “I don’t have much money on me.”

“We’ll go window shopping. And if we see something nice, I can always buy it for you as a thank you.”

“I thought me deciding what to do this weekend was your thank you?”

“Okay. So I want to buy you something because I want to. But I understand if you don’t want me to.”

Is he kidding? I won’t say no to a present. But when I end up with a Hugo Boss suit, shirt and tie, I feel more than surprised and elated. Okay, so I didn’t think he was going to buy me a snow globe, but I didn’t expect a present on quite this scale either. I love getting served in the expensive shops, where assistants are falling over themselves for anyone with the right credit card. It's the first time someone calls me ‘sir’ – well, apart from Justin on Friday night.

We just have time to pack up, check out and get to the airport. This time, we both partake extensively in the business lounge snacks since we missed lunch and we amuse ourselves with mocking the other passengers quietly. Justin is very good at making up elaborate stories about them, although they all seem to end with the person in question being gay and secretly in love with someone totally unsuitable.

On the plane, everything changes abruptly because I can no longer avoid the fact that even though I've been pretending that the life I led this weekend was real, it isn’t actually. I'm not suddenly rich or free to do what I like. I'll be going back to my boring old life with my boring friends and certainly very little money. I have a whole nine more months to get through before I can even think of making some changes.

Justin's been sketching a little on the flight. A few times he has spoken to me and received monosyllabic answers. And the way he looks at me is irritating me now. It's a look halfway between concern and sadness. I don’t need anyone to feel sorry for me or disappointed that I don’t want to keep pretending that we’re something we’re not. Because another cold hard fact is that we are not a couple. I don’t do boyfriends. Did he expect us to be? Because that would only last until tomorrow morning anyway, when he'll be pissing his pants again that we might get found out. Fucking coward! And I’m angry with him for dropping me into the lap of luxury for a few days. It’s always easier to live without the things you never had in the first place. I was fine with my life before this weekend.

We collect our baggage and the jeep at the airport in Pittsburgh and drive home in silence. It's already dark out when we get to my house. Not really wanting to speak to him, I jump out of the car and grab my stuff from the backseat, but Justin calls me back before I can leave.

“Thank you for helping me out and coming to Chicago with me.”

He can be so fucking formal sometimes. Looks like he's already in work mode, all stiff and not in a good way. Yet, his eyes are incredibly soft, that much I can see even in the semi-dark of the streetlight. He looks upset and disappointed. Fuck that!

“You know how you always lecture me on not fucking anybody to get something?”

He frowns in confusion about where this might be going but nods eventually.

“So how did it feel to pay me for my help with sex all weekend?”

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

**PART  ELEVEN**

I sit outside Brian’s house for about twenty minutes before I can bring myself to start the car and even then I'm shaking so much that I’m worried I might not be fit to drive. The streets are not very busy at this time – it's just before midnight – so, against the odds, I arrive safely at my destination. But once I’m there, I don’t know what to do. I just stare straight ahead of me down the dark and deserted road of the quiet suburb.

I can’t believe what he said to me. After the weekend we just had. How could he say that? Is that what really happened? He took what he considered his pound of flesh for services rendered? I didn’t have sex with him because I felt grateful. I had sex with him because that’s what I want all the time anyway. In truth, _I_ should have paid _him_ for fucking me. Because I wanted it. More than anything. Never mind the conversation we had about how he could have anything he wanted for the weekend. That was just flirting, foreplay.

And if that's how he looks at this weekend, what did _he_ get out of it? He can have sex with anybody. He doesn’t need me. If he thinks I was only sleeping with him to thank him, does that mean he attaches at least some value to sex with me? He wouldn’t consider it payment if he thought it was worthless. Or was this really one of those trades he talks about? Am I no more to him than Leo Brown’s PA or the bouncers at Babylon? Does he often get paid in flesh? Or was this whole weekend just an exercise in teaching me a lesson? How much he must hate me if he can be that cruel!

When someone opens my car door, I look up, too far submerged in my misery to be particularly startled or afraid. Daphne reaches past me to turn the ignition off and remove the key. Her hair is tied up like it is when she’s ready for bed and she’s wearing the Sponge Bob pajamas I got her last Christmas.

“If you want to spend the night in your car, at least switch the engine off. The neighbors would like to sleep.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Come on,” she says and pulls on my arm until I get out of the car. I came here to talk to her, so it makes sense that I would actually go into her house.

Indoors, she parks me just inside the living room and makes up the large pull-out couch as a bed. Then she hands me the sweatpants and t-shirt that I always keep here for when I decide to stay over on the spur of the moment and after a while I start undressing on autopilot.

“Ew, Justin,” she shouts. “You’ve been with Brian too long. We normally get changed in the bathroom.”

I spin round, pulling the sweatpants up as I do and see her bringing two mugs of hot chocolate. At the mention of Brian’s name, I can feel my eyes watering – much to my embarrassment.

“Oh God, Justin.” She puts the mugs on the coffee table and comes over to pull me into a hug. It's so beautifully familiar from two decades of friendship and I'm so very grateful that I squeeze her tightly against me and bury my head on her shoulder to stop the tears before they start. “What the fuck did he do? I’ll kick his ass.”  

That makes me snort a laugh despite myself. The idea of this waif of a woman kicking Brian Kinney’s ass is too comical, although maybe not as far-fetched as it appears at first glance, if you know Daphne. She probably could, if she put her mind to it.

We retire to the couch and get under the covers to drink our chocolate with our backs against the backrest. Daphne urges me to tell her every last detail of the weekend. It helps that the only illumination in the room is just one candle and we are both facing forward. For years now, we've always told each other everything, all that we do, everything that happens to us and all our dreams and desires, but this is still difficult. Daphne knows my hopes and my fears. She knows how far I've fallen for Brian, what this weekend meant to me and how much I opened myself up to let him do that to me on Friday night. And how deeply his parting words hurt me.

“He made me feel like a whore, Daph,” I say finally and that just about covers it. I feel sulllied by what he said to me. My whole weekend is spoiled.

“You are not a whore, Justin. You must have scared the shit out of him.”

“Huh? What are you talking about? What did _I_ do?”

“You were nice to him. And he liked it.”

“Yeah, thank you for clearing that up. And may I say again: huh?”

“From what you told me, Brian comes from an abusive home. His parents don’t care about him. Or they are actively abusing him. So he’s not big on trust and who could blame him? He’s been testing you a few times already, being a shit and looking to see if you'll give up on him. And then you take him away from it all and you two have a honeymoon and he gets scared. He’s worried that you'll let him down like everyone else has. That he'll get hurt. He figures he’s got enough hurt in his life and anyway if you fall in love with someone, that’s just basically like giving them the tools and an instruction manual on how to chop your heart into tiny little pieces and leave it out to dry – and then hope like hell that they won’t. He’s not going to allow that. In his situation that would be lethal because he has no one to fall back on. He’s scared.”

“He has Michael. And Debbie.”

“Debbie who can’t stop blaming him for Michael’s unhappiness? Which is only natural as his mother. And Michael who's in love with him and adores him? He would be too scared to tell him, in case Michael withdraws his support because he’s jealous or stops seeing him as a superhero. Can you see Michael having a serious conversation with Brian like you have with me? His jealousy won’t allow that. And I don’t think he’s particularly bright either. Way below Brian’s league. Plus, the one thing Brian can’t afford in his current situation is to lose Michael. It’s his only support system, poor as it might be. No, believe me, if Brian gets into emotional problems, he won’t tell anybody.”

“That’s just sad… he always seems a little sad to me. This weekend was the first time that he seemed happy. I thought it was because he got away from it all.”

“That’s probably true. He didn’t have to worry about what the people he knows think for once. He could let loose, so to speak. And then there was you. We know that he likes you.”

“We do?” I have my doubts about that, especially after what he said to me earlier, but it’s good to hear nonetheless.

“Justin, he keeps coming back for more. Why do you think that is?”

“I have a place where he can chill?”

“Of course, he really just likes your loft. It has nothing to do with you.” She punches my shoulder playfully. “Get real! He likes you. He more than likes you. He asked to tie you up. And it was about more than just making a quick fuck more interesting. Just look what he made you do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me again what he wanted you to do.” She sounds like I’m one of her patients.

I blush furiously, more than when I told her the first time. “He made me talk. Beg. Over and over again. To tell him how much I wanted him to fuck me.”

“That’s not what you said before.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Yeah, you said that, too, but you also said he made you tell him how much you want _him._ Which is more to the point. _”_

_… “Say it!”_

_“Say what?”_

_“Say you want it.”_

_“I want it, Brian. I want you.”_

_“Yes. That. Say it again.”_

_“I want you. All the time. I can’t think about anything but you, I want you so much. I’ve never wanted anybody as much as I want you.”_

_“Again.” …_

I still can’t believe the things that came out of my mouth that night. Not that I didn’t mean all of it exactly the way I said it. But it's never a good idea to be too honest about these things with Brian. He hates anything overtly emotional. Only that night, he didn’t. It was all he wanted to hear, over and over again, until I couldn’t talk anymore. I’m still surprised that I had the presence of mind not to throw in an ‘I love you’. 

“So… what? He got scared so he’s… what? Trying to make out it was nothing? Pushing me away?”

“Yeah, a bit of both. He has all these feelings he can’t process and they scare him. If he manages to push you away, he can go back to his life where everything is familiar and comfortable. However crummy it may be, it feels safe to him. If he pretends it was nothing, he gets you off his back and I’m pretty sure that he can even convince himself of it. He’s hurt you. Deliberately and as deeply as he could. He’s proving to himself that he doesn’t really care and at the same time, he proves it to you. But really, it’s just his way of testing you. He’s practically crying out for you to not give up on him.”

“You're just trying to make me feel better, aren’t you?”

“Of course. But it _is_ psychologically sound. Of course, I don’t know him at all, so I have to diagnose him by what you tell me and I have to filter out all the ‘Brian Kinney is a god’ crap that you’ve been spouting. But, Justin… are you sure you’re up to this? This is gonna take a long time. He's pretty damaged and his fears are pretty entrenched. Are you sure you can put up with him hurting you, in the hope that one day he'll stop? Because it’s not a foregone conclusion that it'll happen. He may never be able to see past his fears. And the worst you can do to someone like that is start breaking down their barriers and then run out of steam before the end and give up. You would just make him worse. It would crush him.”

“I don’t know, Daph. I love him. However stupid and unlikely that is. But I have fears as well. And I always avoided getting hurt. I honestly don’t know how much strength I have for this. And I would draw my strength from what you're saying. That he likes me and that he’s just scared. Because I can’t tell when I’m with him. What if you’re wrong? What if he doesn’t give a shit about me and is just using me for any freebies he can get?”

Daphne leans her head against my shoulder. “I’m a psychiatrist, Justin, not a clairvoyant. I can’t guarantee that I’m right. Anything's possible. All I’m saying is that you should be careful. However tough he looks and behaves, he may just be the more vulnerable in the relationship.”

I sigh and try to take comfort from the fact that she said relationship. Is that what we have, in some unconventional way? A relationship? I'd like that. And I promise myself that I won’t hurt him. But does anybody ever set out to hurt someone? Well, obviously, Brian does. And I know that if we carry on seeing each other, I won't be able to put up with that kind of behavior forever. I have to give some serious thought to what Daphne asked. Do I really have the strength to see this through?

My natural reaction to people hurting me or me expecting them to hurt me is withdrawal. I did it with my father, a few friends who disappointed me and with some guys I fancied but considered way out of my league. But with Brian I've already got hurt, a few times, and yet I’m still here, still trying. It must mean something.

 

I'm forced to go to work on two hours sleep and I'm grateful when Cynthia plops my coffee on my desk. She looks at me expectantly.

“We got it,” I smile.

“Thank God for that.” Cynthia bought a new apartment just last year and must have been worried about how she would be able to afford it if she lost her job. If I were to get fired, there would really be no reason to keep her on. Vance would be stupid to let her go, but he doesn’t know that and it’s unlikely that he'll concern himself with anybody other than the senior management.

“We'll have to relocate to the Art Department.”

“Really? How did you swing that?”

“Wasn’t that difficult. Especially with the campaign relying mostly on the artwork. I shall go and tell Vance the good news.”

Vance is ecstatic at first and tries to ring Leo Brown to welcome him personally into the Vangard fold, but Brown is already on his way to Japan. Then he realizes that he just acquired a new art director and he is livid. Of course, he already has an art director. I suggest that we create a second team. He’s expanding, isn’t he? And I demand free choice of my own team. Might as well go for broke.

When I return to my office, Brian has arrived. He's wearing his new suit and he looks even more stunning than usual. Hugo Boss really suits him. What am I thinking? Anything suits Brian.

“Good morning, Mr. Taylor.” His voice is so cold it almost makes me shiver a little. Why is he so angry? Everything was great and then as soon as we stepped foot on Pittsburgh soil his mood completely flipped. What did I do? I try to keep Daphne’s words in my mind. Last night, they made perfect sense, but in the cold light of the day they seem ludicrous. Brian vulnerable? If he is, he hides it damned well. Daphne was just trying to make me feel better. And in Chicago I was just seeing the things I wanted to be there.

I make a few phone calls to get some of the old arts team together. My team will consist of five people, all hand-picked from the old Ryder Art Department. I will still look after the main accounts that I have at the moment and Brian and I sort out the files for the ones I'm going to pass on to Savannah.

By Tuesday afternoon, my new team is assembled and we have the smaller room in the Art Department to ourselves. At the moment, the only thing we're working on is Brown Athletics, but that will change over time. For a while, Savannah and I will probably be the only ones who elect to work with my team, rather than with Andrew’s team, who has worked for Vangard for years. But I have no doubt that our work will speak for itself. I'm very determined to enjoy myself.

At lunchtime on Friday, I hand Brian two envelopes. I've written out two identical references, one on Ryder’s and one on Vangard’s stationary, so he can supply whatever the university would prefer. I’ve left them unsealed and he doesn’t even hesitate before he opens them to read. It's the first time I see him blush even slightly.

He clears his throat when he’s done. “This is very flattering,” he says.

“Not at all. I meant every word.”

“Thank you.”

“You deserve it, really. I hope that you'll get in because you're destined to be a great success.”

He nods and watches me for a bit, waiting.

I smile. “You can take the afternoon off, if you like.” He hasn’t really said a single private word to me all week and I'm pretty convinced that he can’t wait to get out of here. I cannot make him want to spend time with me and I won’t force him to stay any longer than necessary.

There is some hesitation. Maybe that was not what he was expecting or waiting for, but the pause is brief. Then he gets up and puts the envelopes into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Okay,” he says coldly. “See you around.”

And then he's gone, leaving me stunned that this is all he has to say to me after six weeks. Outside my office, I can hear him chatting to Cynthia, telling her how nice it was to work with her and how he's hoping that he'll see her again sometime. I drop my head on my desk and hope that, at some stage, my life will stop being what it is right now.  

 

I've spoken to Daphne every night this week. On Wednesday, she came over for pizza and a movie. She has become more cautious about Brian now. I think she realizes that she got my hopes up with what she said the other night and now wishes she hadn’t. It’s obvious by now that it was all just wishful thinking on both our parts.

Tonight, I don’t feel like staying in and I have taken myself to Woody’s for a drink – or ten. It brings home to me how few friends I have. The few people that I used to hang out with don’t come to this place and I can’t bring myself to go to our usual haunts. I don’t feel up to serious political discussions at the moment, which is all we ever do. In fact, I don’t really feel like company at all.

Already two guys have tried to hit on me and I’ve brushed them off, refusing to let anybody even buy me a drink. I don’t want to talk to anyone. In another hour it'll be late enough to go to Babylon and get my needs met. Then I can go home. I plan on painting a lot this weekend.

“Hey, Baby,” I hear a familiar sounding voice and then an arm is draped over my shoulders.

I look up. “Oh, hey, Emmett, how are you?”

He looks incredibly young, too young to be in here. Brian told me that Emmett is sixteen and he looks it. How does he manage to get in? No fake ID can be that convincing.

“I’ve been sent to find a fourth man for playing pool. Please, come and help us out.”

I turn around to see Ted watching us and nodding with a smile when he sees me look. Brian is there as well, but he’s busy checking out every hot guy in the place. “I don’t know,” I hedge. “I’m not very good at it.” Brian wouldn’t thank me for this and I don’t want to spend the evening being ignored, or worse.

“Neither are we. Well, apart from Brian, of course, but what else is new? Please, honey, you would be doing us a huge favor.”

“Where's Michael?”

“Running an errand for his mom. He’ll be here later. Come on.” He pulls on my arm and I let him drag me over to the pool table. Great. Brian will be pissed off, but that's nothing compared to how Michael will react when he turns up. Why do I do these things to myself?

Ted smiles at me when we get there. He's much friendlier than usual and Brian finally decides to look at me, as if this is the first time he’s noticed me. “This is the best you could do?” he grouses at Emmett.

Emmett laughs melodiously and drapes his arms around me from behind. “I doubt there's any way I could do better,” he says and kisses my cheek.

“What’s the matter, Brian?” Ted smirks. “Worried you might not be able to concentrate?” He passes me one of the cues.

“I don’t need to concentrate to beat you guys. That’s the problem. So, are you playing or molesting, Honeycutt?”

Emmett gives me a little squeeze and lets go. “Don’t call me Honeycutt,” he says as he takes the cue.

The game goes better than expected. True, Brian doesn’t say a word to me, but he watches me intently as I play. I'm relieved to find that I play better than I feared, but the fact that Ted and I only lose on the last ball has less to do with our skill and more with Emmett’s complete lack thereof. Without Brian, they wouldn't have sunk a single ball.

Ted and Brian seem to have a semi-friendly rivalry going that all too often tips over into complete viciousness, with Ted ending up on the receiving end of Brian’s biting comments by sheer lack of confidence. I don’t get it. Ted may be a little awkward and staid, but he’s very smart and deliciously sarcastic when he puts his mind to it. He has no reason to be so self-deprecating. With the right attitude, he could be quite attractive. He certainly has interesting opinions.

Then Michael turns up.

“What is _he_ doing here?” he asks, as if I’m not standing two feet away from him. If looks could kill, I would have no chance of seeing tomorrow morning, or even midnight.

“Playing pool, by the looks of it,” Brian deadpans.

“Why? You don’t have to pretend to like him anymore. Your slavery is over.”

“Justin was kind enough to help us out,” Emmett comes to my rescue. “Didn’t you, sweetie?”

I smile at Emmett and hand Michael the cue, which he snatches off me as if I stole it to begin with, but when I turn to go back to the bar to have another drink, Emmett stops me. “You stay, honey. I’ll just watch. I’m no good at it anyway, so I’ll just sit here, looking fabulous. Ted will be glad to have a better partner.”

Ted doesn’t look too sure about that. He throws Michael an apologetic look. I see it now: he can only be nice to me when Michael isn't here. I can’t decide whether I find that shallow and two-faced or endearing for its loyalty.

Brian behaves as if the issue is already settled and I take Emmett’s cue, which he passes to me with a wink. He seems amazingly friendly, considering he’s only seen me a few times. But maybe he's just trying to piss Brian off. I remember him saying something along those lines the first time we met.

Michael's playing slightly better than Emmett, but that's only until Brian starts giving him extra tuition. My stomach drops as I watch him molding himself to Michael’s back, helping him align the cue and whispering in his ear. Michael is flushed the whole way through the two games we're playing and can’t keep his eyes off Brian in between shots. If I didn’t know any better, I'd swear they're a couple and this is just foreplay. It is painful to watch and both Emmett and Ted scowl at Brian, which he ignores completely. He only grins at me a few times.

Ted and I actually manage to win one of the games, but neither one of us is particularly happy about it. Poor Michael is so flustered, he misses almost every shot and so would I, if I had Brian draped over me the whole time. I wonder if Michael’s ship has finally come in.

It's Emmett who puts a stop to it by announcing that he's bored now and wants to go to Babylon. I decline his invitation despite his insistence. There's no way in hell I will watch this particular episode of the Brian and Mikey show any longer. Outside Woody’s, I say goodnight to them and start walking home. It's not even midnight yet, so there's still time to sketch a little. Or a lot, since I probably won’t be able to sleep any time soon.

I look up when I notice someone falling in with my step. Brian. Well, if he wants to go Babylon, he’s going the wrong way, so I stop. No need to take him even further in the wrong direction. Might as well just let him have his say and be done. I know I won’t be able to prevent him saying his piece anyway, nor would I want to. I worked out a long time ago that he had it right on the first night: it doesn’t matter what he says as long as he speaks to me.

“What’s the matter, Sunshine?” he drawls and he appears a lot drunker all of a sudden than he did in Woody’s. It’s no great surprise since he had drinks bought for him all evening by random guys, who were cruising him. He barely nodded his thanks at any of them before downing the drinks. “Can’t stand the heat?”

“I wasn’t the one you were making hot and bothered, Brian. I thought you and Michael are friends.”

“We are. Leave Mikey out of it!”

“You dragged him into it. And if that's how you treat your friends, then remind me to never become your friend.”    

“Mikey knows the score.”

I stare at him. Is he really that dense? Or is he just callous? I wonder how many times Michael has already gone through what he went through tonight. Unexpectedly, I feel sad for the guy. If this is how Brian treats him, then it’s no wonder that he's so territorial and that he isn't giving up on his hopeless crush. And it occurs to me that I’m not that different. I take all of Brian’s shit and let him get away with it because somewhere inside of me there's hope. There is always hope.

We're standing in the middle of the sidewalk, glaring at each other. I still haven’t worked out what had him so pissed off all week and suddenly I no longer care. If Brian can treat his alleged best friend like that, what hope is there for me? He doesn’t even like me that much.

“Your friends are waiting for you,” I say and somehow manage a smile. I will never be able to be truly nasty to Brian and even if I gave him a piece of my mind, it wouldn’t make the least bit of difference.

“They know the score,” he says again.

I blink. “What _is_ the score, Brian?” 

“I wanna fuck you. Shall we go?”

“You wanna…?” I move back a step and slump against the wall. I'm so confused, I can’t even decide what I’m feeling. I'm angry with him for what he did in Woody’s. He deliberately hurt my feelings, but I’m sure that he hurt Michael much more by being here with me now and not with him. It was cruel. It would have been cruel doing it to a stranger, but his best friend? If it was just a game, why didn’t he pick Ted? At least, he doesn’t pretend to like Ted. And I feel disgusted with myself for being excited that he’s here with me now. How much shittier will I allow him to treat me before I show a bit of self-respect? But mostly I feel disappointed because I have never thought so little of Brian as I do tonight, not even when he fucks someone just to get what he wants.

“Is this a difficult concept for you, Sunshine? Your ass, my cock. It’s not as if you don’t know how it’s done.” He's dripping sarcasm now.

“Don’t call me Sunshine. Only Debbie's allowed to do that and she’s known me a lot longer than you have.”

He frowns for a few moments and then steps closer, pressing me against the brick wall. He puts his hands on the sides of my face and kisses me. First a soft touch and then he licks along my lips until I open them. And then I’m almost completely lost. The only thing that makes me push him back a little is the thought that Michael might turn up and find us like this. And why the hell does that seem to bother me more than him?

“There’s the alley, if you don’t wanna go home,” he rasps into my ear.

“I don’t fuck in alleyways.” I ignore how my dick hardened at the mere suggestion and concentrate on how disgusted I am with myself for not putting up more resistance.

“Never?” he asks, smirking at me.

Yeah, like I’m going to throw down a challenge like that to him. “I just don’t want to,” I say and turn towards home. He walks with me silently, but when we're passing the next alley, he grabs my hand and pulls me a few yards into it. There are two or three couples further along, where it is darker, too preoccupied with what they're doing to pay us any heed.

I find myself pressed against the brick again, feeling Brian’s hard-on against my lower stomach as he can undoubtedly feel mine against his thigh.

“I’ll spend the whole weekend with you if you let me fuck you right here. No tricking.”

I want to. I really do. It’s not just that the offer of another weekend is very enticing, it's also that the very idea of doing something so sordid and so far out of my comfort zone is incredibly arousing. But there's also the thought that he might be playing me. He would think nothing of fucking me here and then going back on his word just to put me in my place. Just because he can. And what's more is the fact that I want him to _want_ to spend the weekend with me, not do it as payment for something he wants me to do. Never mind that I don’t want to pay him for being with me in any currency. Ever. 

I push him away. “If you want to spend the weekend with me, then do. But I’m not playing your games, Brian. I’m not Michael.”  I slip past him and almost flee back to the main road.

 

*******

 

No matter how hard I try, there's no sleep to be had for me on Sunday night. It must be residual excitement from the weekend or maybe jetlag. The more I think about it, the more the whole trip to Chicago makes my skin crawl. It was altogether too soft. We didn’t even go out on Saturday night, for fuck’s sake! I had a good time, but more and more I feel that Justin tricked me somehow. He took me to Chicago, gave me an all expenses paid vacation and then somehow expected me to… what exactly? I’m not sure, but I know that he has expectations that I can’t fulfill and just because he paid for the weekend doesn’t give him any rights.

The week goes quickly. We're mainly busy with sorting out files and relocating to a different office in the Art Department. Why on earth he might want to have that job over being the Senior Accounts Manager is beyond me. He had Vance right where he wanted him. He could have set any condition and this is what he chooses? He’s mad. But to each his own. At least he made the most of his advantage and got what he wanted.

On Friday, he gives me my marching orders and I can’t help glowing with pride over what he’s written about me. There was never any doubt that my reference would be stellar, but he phrased it in a way that will have colleges falling over themselves to give me a place. Then I wait to see what else he has to say. My resentment hasn’t really abated all week. Justin's been polite, friendly even, and curiously undeterred by my coldness. But now he’s getting his own back, casually telling me to take the afternoon off as his final dismissal. Well, if that’s all he has to say, that’s fine by me.

 

Michael is strangely relieved that my internship is over. At the beginning of the week, he was a little annoyed that I had my cellphone switched off the whole time I was in Chicago, but he can never hold a grudge against me for long. We spend Friday afternoon reading comics and watching DVDs. For the evening, we've arranged to meet Ted and Emmett at Woody’s, but Debbie asks him to do some shopping for her before he goes out. He wants me to come along, but I’m not gonna spent my evening in a supermarket, so I tell him to just meet us there when he’s done. He can live without me for a couple of hours.

I see Justin as soon as we enter, but I pretend that I don’t. If he wasn’t so focused on his drink and nothing else, I would assume that he’s here to stalk me again, but he has that alone-in-a-crowd thing going, so I suppose he’s just here because it’s somewhere to go. When Emmett volunteers to find us a fourth man, I’m not at all surprised or displeased that he comes back with Justin, but, naturally, I don’t let on.

Justin is actually a pretty decent player and the conversation between the three of them flows easily, too – until Michael turns up. What exactly is his problem with Justin? The way he treats him annoys me every time they meet. I wonder how Justin puts up with it. I try and improve Mikey’s play, but he just gets worse and worse. Okay, so maybe I’m laying it on a bit thick, but it's just harmless fun. He knows how I feel or, rather, don’t feel about him and it has the added bonus of pissing Justin off.

Justin is adamant that he won’t go to Babylon with us. I could tell Emmett at the first attempt that he might as well give up because I've heard that steely undertone before. It means: _no further_. When he walks away, I tell the others that I will meet them at the club and follow him. I'm still angry with him, although not as much as I was, but when I catch up with him, I suddenly know that I won’t be meeting the others at Babylon tonight. I’m just drunk enough and horny enough to forget my anger in favor of fucking him all night long. If he lets me. Because he's not happy with me and it’s not even about him and me. He’s upset about _Michael_? Why does he even care? Michael hates his guts and makes no secret about it.

But I quickly turn this to the issue at hand, which is sex, him and me, fucking, preferably right here or the alleyway I pull him into. This is what I like about Justin. He challenges me. I know I will eventually get him to let me fuck him in public but definitely not tonight. That steely voice is back. I like it, even though it sets boundaries for me that I cannot cross. Those are always fun to push against. When he goes back to the main road, I follow him and smirk when he looks at me questioningly, without slowing his walk. He shakes his head, but when he looks down, he's smiling a little.

My cellphone rings just as he's locking the loft door. I cast a quick eye on the display – Michael, of course – and am just about to switch it off, when Justin says: “Answer it.”

I look up, raise an eyebrow in amusement and move my tongue into my cheek. Is he telling me what to do now? But he doesn’t seem amused at all. His eyes are so clear and blue, that I forget to be annoyed at his presumptuousness. He’s hot when he’s bossy.

“Yes?” I finally answer, still smirking at him.

_“Brian?”_

“Who did you expect when you called my phone?”

_“Are you coming to Babylon?”_

“Not tonight, Mikey. Something came up.”

I make a grab for Justin’s waist band, but he just snatches my hand and holds it, his eyes never leaving mine. For a few moments I’m distracted and don’t notice the silence at the other end of the line. Then Michael finally responds.

_“You're with him, aren’t you?”_

“With whom?”

_“Justin. You are with Justin.”_

“Does it make any difference?”

There's another long pause and Justin moves away from me towards the kitchen. It’s not a come-chase-me move or even a hurry-up-I’m-bored move. It’s more of an I-don’t-wanna-be-part-of-this move. He's shutting me out completely. I hate it when he does that. I hate that he can do that. He shouldn’t be able to do that when I’m just about to fuck him.

_“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”_

I watch Justin open the fridge door and stare inside for a moment before he takes out two bottles of water and, leaving one on the counter for me, moves over to the window to look outside. None of the lights in the loft are on yet and he’s framed by the street lighting shining up. He looks upset. Or maybe just sad. Jeez, I hope he’s not going all emo on me.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Mikey?” My voice is a little soft, as it always is when I’m placating him. It usually works.

_“What for?”_

I've taken a couple of step towards Justin, but Michael’s answer stops me in my tracks.

“What do you mean? Do I need a reason?”

There is another long pause. “ _No, I suppose not.”_ And then the little shit hangs up on me!I stare at my cellphone incredulously and Justin turns to look, probably noticing that I’m finished.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“The little shit hung up on me! Since when does he hang up on me?”

He smiles. I can just see it in the near dark. “Good for him,” he says, puts his bottle on the dining table and makes his way into the bathroom. A few moments later, I can hear the shower come on. What the fuck is going on?

I wait for him on the bed, just sitting on the edge, smoking a couple of cigarettes. When he comes out, he seems surprised to see me. What, he thought I would leave without getting what I came for? I’m too annoyed for that. Everything was fine and then suddenly it all tipped over into this. It’s as if Michael’s pissiness has transferred to Justin during the phone call.

He sits down beside me and I can smell his shampoo and soap and feel his damp skin against my bare arm. And I don’t want to think anymore about what happened tonight or that Mikey is angry with me. All I want to do is fuck Justin, slowly and repeatedly.

“What you did to Michael was cruel,” Justin says quietly.

“I told you to leave Michael out of it. It’s none of your business. Why do you even care?”

“Because you’re better than this, Brian.”

“Maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m really just an asshole.”

He turns to look at me and runs his hand through my hair. I wanna to pull away, but I kinda like it right now and it’s physical contact, isn’t it? All physical contact leads to fucking eventually. At least with Justin it does.

“No maybe about this, Brian. You are definitely better than this.”

“You don’t know me.” He doesn’t. So we fucked a few times. And spent some time together, but that doesn’t mean that he knows anything about me. Mikey knows me. He knows what an asshole I am and he still comes back for more every time. Nobody else will ever do that. Eventually they all get wise and leave. It’s just that it’s taking Michael a lot longer than most people to see through me because he has a crush on me. It won’t take Justin that long.

“I know what I need to know, Brian. I’m on to you.”

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

**PART  TWELVE**

Brian and I have a fantastic weekend. For once, he doesn’t seem to mind doing things the normal way. We hang out, watch movies and TV, talk, cook, go to the gym, have a meal at a restaurant way off Liberty Avenue on Sunday and just relax. And fuck, naturally – a lot. Maybe it’s the fact that he's no longer my intern that makes it easier for me to just enjoy it. Spending time with Brian _is_ very enjoyable.

The only fly in the ointment is that I have to almost force him to call Michael on Saturday like he promised. He doesn’t give in to my nagging until the evening and then I wish I hadn’t encouraged him. From what I can hear from his side of it, the conversation doesn’t go well. Michael is obviously still upset from the night before and it's only made worse when Brian tells him he won’t be around for the rest of the weekend either.

I can see Michael’s point of view. Brian practically molested him at the pool table and then dumped him five minutes later. However much Michael may be used to that, as Brian claims, when you’re in love with someone you fall for it every time because you can’t stop wishing and hoping. I do. But I'd like to think that if I were in Michael’s position, I would have walked away a long time ago. The guy must be a glutton for punishment. I may take a lot of Brian’s shit, but at least we have sex on a regular basis, so I consider it a relationship. Whenever Brian talks about Michael, I can tell that he doesn’t want to fuck him, although it may be understandable that Michael can’t see it, the way Brian leads him on. And he's only seventeen. None of us has much sense at that age, especially when it comes to love. Hell, I don’t even have much sense when it comes to love at my age.

After the phone call, which Brian makes over by the window, while I’m chopping ingredients for dinner and pretend not to be listening, he comes over, takes the knife out of my hand and pulls me to the bed without a word. There, he kisses the hell out of me, takes off my clothes, slips out of his pants and fucks me with very little preparation. Good thing it’s not the first one of the day, otherwise this would be rough. Not that I don’t enjoy it. Afterwards, he collapses on top of me and I run my hand through his hair for as long as he lets me before he announces that he’s starving and can I get a move on with dinner.

On Sunday, we go to his house again to collect a change of clothes and a shirt for the restaurant. I wonder what the neighbors think of this routine and then I’m worried what will happen if one of them mentions it to his parents. Brian just tells me not to think about it. I suppose that's what he does.

The hardest thing is leaving him in my bed after our morning fuck on Monday morning to go to work. I'd much rather stay with him, especially since he’s still got two weeks off school. I can’t help being a little disappointed in the evening when I come home and he’s not there. I've been telling myself all day that he wouldn’t be, but there's still that prick of disappointment when there isn’t even a short note. Until I realize that he left his clothes, which I washed for him yesterday. I smile as I quietly clear out my bottom drawer and put them in there. Brian even has his own unique way of leaving messages. You just have to know how to read them.

When I get to the GLC on Tuesday night, I realize straight away that there are way too many people here for an ordinary night just before closing. I was trying to work it out so that there would be just enough time to drop off the poster and leave. I haven’t seen any of my friends since Dan and Scott came round to my loft that Saturday morning and I can honestly say, I haven’t missed any of them. But now they all seem to be here. 

Lauren tells me that there's a committee meeting and insists that I’ll stay for it, since I’ve brought the poster for the Carnival, which they're going to discuss. I can’t very well say no. I’ve been to a lot of meetings because this has been my home away from home for a long time. It’s not anybody’s fault that I’m no longer comfortable here all of a sudden. And anyway, I would only go home and wait for Brian to turn up or call, like I did last night. I check my messages again and reluctantly switch my cellphone off, as is the rule during meetings.

Luckily, Debbie is there and I manage to get a seat next to her. She doesn’t usually come to the meetings, as she's so busy with PFLAG, but I’m not questioning my stroke of luck. The meeting drags on interminably, mostly taken up by Dan’s patronizing monologues and Tannis equally unpleasantly barking out orders to people. I like women, I really do, lesbian, straight or undecided, they're good company. But Tannis is just a bully. If you want to be a bull dyke, do it like Melanie does, with sarcasm and humor. Now, Melanie I like.

Eventually, I get asked to show my poster. I've made some alterations at the weekend – on Brian’s suggestion – and it's now sexier than it was before. ‘Accentuate the cock,’ he said. ‘What’s the point of having a hot guy on your poster, if you can’t see his assets?’ Really, I wasn’t wrong about Brian, he will be a great adman. Vangard had better watch out.

“That's very beautiful, Justin.” Lindsay is the first to speak. She’s only been coming here for a few months, since she’s started going out with Melanie. She’s an art student or something. I smile my thanks at her.

“Yes, but what kind of message does it convey?” Tannis says, frowning.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s practically obscene,” Dan pipes up. “There's an overemphasis on sex.” He glares at me and I know he's not just talking about the poster.

“Okaaay,” I say. “Well, here’s the thing. If you want to have a tea party with all your friends, then by all means, let’s be tame and family friendly and the same people that turn up every year will turn up this year and donate the same amount that they donate every year. But if you want to raise more money – which I thought was kind of the idea of having a fundraiser – then you need to attract a different clientele. More people. With different interests.”

“People like your new boyfriend? What’s his name again? Brian?” Dan spits out. “People who frequent Babylon and have sex in backrooms and alleyways? Do we really want to mix with those people?”

“Brian's not his boyfriend,” Debbie pipes up. “He’s…”

I just manage to grab her arm and squeeze it warningly. Miraculously, she stops and gives me a look before continuing. “Sunshine's right. There’s nothing wrong with Liberty Avenue. I don’t know why you guys are always so fucking hoity-toity about it. We’re a community. So we might as well all pull in the same direction. And if we can get more people to give us money, what’s wrong with that? It’s for a good cause. And that,” she points to the poster, “will definitely attract more of the guys on Liberty Avenue than anything we’ve done before.”

“Well, let’s face it,” Tannis says viciously. “ _You_ aren't even gay.”

“Well, I’m the next best thing,” Debbie glowers and folds her arms. “And if you exclude people just because you don’t agree with the way they lead their lives, than you’re no better than the homophobes.”

And that is when all hell breaks loose. Everybody's talking at once and I must say that committee meetings have never been this much fun before. In between giving Dan and Tannis a piece of her mind, Debbie's still shooting me questioning glances, which I ignore, while I watch these people tear into each other with all the consideration of a cackle of hyenas.

Finally, there's a loud whistle and we all turn to Melanie, who's standing up now. “Let’s get back to the issue at hand, shall we?” she says. “The bottom line is that we need more money. If Justin’s poster will do that for us, then let’s use it. I suggest we have a family friendly afternoon and then set a time for when the adult entertainment starts, let’s say eight o’clock. And some of us will just have to get babysitters for then, or go home if it offends our sensibilities. But if we don’t do this, then Justin's right, we'll end up with the same measly amount that we got last year. How's that doing the center any good?”

They all settle down to a serious, and more civil, discussion on what entertainment would be classed as adult and what would not. Quite frankly, with Dan, Tannis and Lauren vetoing a lot of the suggestions, I don’t think any of the new audience will ever return, even if we can get them through the door on this occasion. These people are hopeless. They're throwing away good money just to uphold their own ideas of what being homosexual should be all about.

Debbie leans a little closer, so she can talk quietly. “How does Dan know Brian?”

“The question is how does he know so much about Liberty Avenue and backroom fucking if he never goes there?”

She laughs, then looks at me again, serious now. “How does he know Brian?”

Yeah, I didn’t think a simple deflection would put her off. “He saw him at my place a little while ago.”

“What was Brian doing at your place?”

I sigh and just look at her.

“You fucking didn’t,” she says a little louder.

I look around and I can see Dan watching us with interest, although he's all the way on the other side of the circle and can’t really hear us. At least I hope he can’t.

“Deb,” I say urgently. “If anybody finds out about this, both Brian and I will be screwed. Don’t do that to him. He needs the internship for college. None of these people here must ever know.”

“He’s seventeen, Justin.” She looks disappointed and I am truly sorry that I've sunken in her esteem. It’s not that I don’t see her point. I do. I know what it looks like from the outside. “If that was Michael, I would clobber you. And Brian's like a son to me.”

“Then please treat him as such and don’t say anything. To anybody. You’ll mess up his whole life.”

“Do you really think I would tell _these_ people anything? But I must say I’m disappointed in you, Sunshine. I didn’t think you were into chicken.”

“I’m not. I’m into Brian.”

At the end of the meeting, I go up to Melanie, who's just putting her coat on, whispering to Lindsay in a way that suggests they have urgent business they want to get to.

”Can I ask you something in your professional capacity? It won’t take long.”

“Sure,” she says, smiling at her girlfriend a little ruefully, before she pulls me into a quiet corner. “You in trouble?”

“Not sure yet. I hope not.”

“Give me a dollar.”

More than a little confused, I pull out my wallet. “Do you need change for the vending machine or…?”

“Nothing like that,” she interrupts and pulls a dollar bill from my wallet to stuff it into her jeans pocket. “Now you’re my client and we're covered by confidentiality. What’s up?”

If I wasn’t gay, Melanie would be the type of woman I'd go after. Of course, she would have to be straight for that, too. We've been friendly, if not friends, for a while now. I smile at her. “I had this intern at work. I fancy him and he fancies me. What would happen if we got together after his internship is finished?”

“Legally, nothing. You can do what you like afterwards. As long as you’re aware that people will talk regardless. I take it he’s an adult?”

“Uhm…”

“Oh. Okay. How old is he?”

“Seventeen.”

“Well, that’s still legal. But people will talk even more.” She pauses and looks at me for a while. I feel myself blush under her gaze. “Naturally, you didn’t do anything while you were his boss,” she suggests.

“Naturally,” I say in the same tone. “But Dan met him at my place while he was still my intern although Dan doesn’t know that.”

“That’s not good.” Yeah, tell me something I don’t know. “Did anything happen that would suggest to Dan that you two were doing anything untoward?”

I squirm a little. “Brian was coming out of the shower. And he then proceeded to ask me if I was coming back to bed. All while he was only wearing a towel.”

She's staring at me for a moment, then she laughs heartily, drawing some odd looks from people. “Oh, I wish I could have seen Dan’s face!”

I have to laugh as well. “It was memorable,” I admit.

Then she sobers a little. “I don’t need to tell you that Dan must never find out that Brian was your intern at the time.”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t think I'll have much to do with Dan in the future anyway.”

“Good choice,” she says and throws a longing gaze at Lindsay, who's waiting by the door, looking very young and pretty.

“I’ll let you go,” I say, a little envious because I fully expect to be alone again tonight. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She turns to go, but then turns back for a moment. “This Brian must really be something if you’re willing to take such risks for him. I hope it works out for you.”

“Thank you. Now go and make your girlfriend happy.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

I manage to escape without getting a further talking to from Debbie. I'm hoping that her loyalty to Brian will keep her from saying anything to the wrong people, even if she no longer thinks highly of me. I feel sad about that, but I've never had much contact with Debbie, so I suppose I can live with her disapproval.

What worries me a little is that I should tell Brian. If Debbie says anything to him, he shouldn’t be unprepared. But I've always known that I'm not supposed to contact him. He'll feel trapped if I do and then he'll withdraw. This has to be all on his terms. He can turn up whenever he feels like it, but I can never seek him out. He really needs to be handled like a skittish animal. I weigh my options and decide that Debbie probably won’t say anything. What could she possible say? And I know that if the situation were reversed, my mother would bite off her tongue before she'd say anything to any of my friends.

But when said mother turns up at my loft the next evening, just after I've got changed after work, I realize that I haven’t thought this through properly. I just take one look at her face and sigh, walking away into the kitchen and leaving the door open for her to let herself in.

“I’ve spoken to Debbie,” she says, standing on the other side of the counter. The very fact that she's not making herself comfortable tells me that I'm not going to like this conversation.

“I thought you might.” Or not. Because I've thought about nothing but not seeing Brian for the last couple of nights and haven’t spent any time on preparing myself for this, like I should have done. It’s never a good idea to face my mother in a showdown without being suitably armed.

“So, you want to tell me about Brian?”

“Not really.”

“He's the boy who was here that one time, isn’t he?”

“Yes. I introduced you. Remember?”

“You didn’t say that he was your intern.”

“Mom. I’m twenty-nine years old. Why do I still have to report to you?”

“You’re right. You’re twenty-nine. And he’s _seventeen._ He’s barely above the age of consent.”

I sigh and start preparing my dinner for the evening. “Mom. You’ve seen him. When I met him I didn’t know how old he was and I didn’t know he would be my intern three days later. If I'd known that, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near him. But I didn’t. Things just happened.” 

“But you didn’t stop after you found out. Because Debbie and I worked out that it was right in the middle of his internship when I saw him here. What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how much trouble you can get into? Having sex with a minor is bad enough. Having sex with a minor under your care is against the law. He’s a child, Justin!”

“Brian is many things, Mom. But he’s not a child.”

“Yes, he is. I could see it straight away.”

“You’re old. Anybody under thirty looks like a child to you.”

She bristles at that and I feel guilty. My mother isn't old and she looks a lot younger than her age. I'm just angry and lashing out. I sigh.

“What exactly are you accusing me of?”

“That you took advantage of that boy. That you're having sex with a minor. That you're turning into a gay stereotype.”

And suddenly my temper, which I usually have so well under control, flares up. I realize almost immediately that the reason for that is because she has hit on a sore point. I have despised the part of the gay community that seems obsessed with sex and youth for so long that it's hard for me to admit that I’m not that different. But that doesn’t stop me from letting my mouth run away with me. Loudly.

“I’m not fucking him because he’s my intern and doesn’t have a choice. Or because he’s seventeen and I’m secretly a pedophile. I’m fucking him because I love him.”

I'm a bit freaked out that I shouted at my mother for the first time in my life. And used that kind of language. But that is nothing compared to how I feel when I see her staring, not at me, but at somebody standing just at the entrance to the kitchen. Brian! Oh, fuck!

 

*******

 

“Hold it!” Debbie shouts from the kitchen in her usual commanding voice. This is nothing new. Mikey’s life is under so much scrutiny that being pulled into the kitchen for a status report happens with more regularity than being allowed to go upstairs undisturbed. Mikey really needs to cut the apron strings. He’s going to be eighteen next year. How is he ever going to lead his own life, if he still reports to his mother on a daily basis?

The strange thing is that he doesn’t really mind. Yes, he gets all pissy about it when we’re alone and he whines when he’s talking to his mom, but I know him better than that. He would be lost if she stopped obsessing about him. For once, I’m actually much better off. At least, my parents let me do whatever I please. They probably wouldn’t if they knew what actually pleases me, but they don’t care enough to find out. That’s got to be better than this, right?

I drag my feet on the way to the stairs, while Mikey shuffles into the kitchen. I usually hang about for a bit, waiting for him, hoping that my presence will move things along – which it never does. Debbie doesn’t care if she has an audience. Not like my parents, who do everything in secret. Well, maybe Debbie doesn’t have anything to hide. And if it takes too long, I’ll just make my way upstairs and wait for him in his room.

“Not you,” Debbie says and then looks at me. ”You.” She crooks her finger and beckons me to come closer. “You go upstairs, honey,” she says to Mikey.

“Mooom!” He's always so embarrassed when his mother speaks to any of his friends. I don’t know why. I think she’s hilarious and caring and almost as obsessed with fucking as we are. At least, she accepts his homosexuality. My mother would probably drag me to church for an exorcism if she knew. If she would even bother to ever talk to me again. Mikey has no appreciation for how good he has it.

“Go to your room,” she says in that voice that brooks no argument.

Michael looks at me and I nod reassuringly, which makes him stomp up the stairs. I know he'll hover on the top landing to try and listen in, but I’m not sure if his mother knows it.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on between you and Justin?” she starts as soon as we can’t hear him anymore.

She wants to talk about _Justin_ of all people? How does he suddenly feature in our conversations? “What about Justin?”

“You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

“Whom I fuck is none of your business,” I say coldly. I've never before been so blunt with her. In general, I keep up a modicum of politeness. She's the mother of my best friend, after all, and no matter how over-familiar she is, there's a certain respect there. But as I get older, I find myself less respectful in general. Respect should be earned and my parents’ idea that being older commands it on that principle alone is just a crock of shit. Debbie has always been looking out for me and I’m giving her a lot of leeway for that, but now she has unerringly hit on one of the subjects that I'm not willing to discuss with anyone. I'm not her son. She has no right to pry into my business.

“Brian,” she says softly, changing tack immediately. “I'm trying to look out for you here – God knows your parents won’t. Justin's a great guy, but he’s much older than you. He shouldn’t be having sex with someone so young.”

I snort derisively. “What? You think all the other guys I fuck are twinks? You can’t learn anything from twinks. What has age got to do with anything?” And why does she always have to bring my parents into it?

“Well, he’s actually closer in age to me than he is to you, when you think about it. And he's your boss. You two could get into all sorts of trouble.”

I stare at her. I have no idea how old she is. Why would I? There was never any reason to think about it. Michael is seventeen. If she had him really young, which she always says she did, she could be as little as five years older than Justin. Now, that _is_ a scary thought.

“What exactly is your point?” I ask her. “Is it his age? Or the fact that he _was_ my boss? Or is it something completely different? Maybe something to do with Mikey?”

She cringes a little, so I know that I’ve hit the spot somewhere in there. Does she really want me to end up with Mikey? She knows me too well for that. No mother could possibly wish that on her own son. Or is she concerned about Justin? She's friends with Justin’s mom, isn’t she? So that’s what it is. She's worried about ‘Sunshine’.

“Brian, honey, listen to me. If you like him and you want a relationship with him, believe me, you could do a lot worse. Justin's a great guy. He's smart and funny and successful, easy on the eye, too. He would be good to you, too. But if you're just fucking with him, like you are with… everyone else, then I’m asking you to leave him be. He actually has a life. One that you could fuck up completely. He doesn’t deserve that. I like him. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“Well, that’s life, isn’t it? He’ll get over it. How did you find out?”

“Does it matter? I know that you’re not completely indifferent to him, otherwise it wouldn’t have gone on for weeks now. So if you like him, maybe you should let him go?”

“Why, Debbie? So that he doesn’t get hurt? Maybe it’s too late for that. Or maybe this is not about Justin at all. Maybe this is about Mikey?”

She stares at me and for a moment I think my tactic actually worked. Michael will always be her weakest point. Next, she’s gonna go off on a tangent about how I should treat her son a lot better than I do. I’ve heard that particular lecture a few times already. It’s much better than talking about Justin.

Then Debbie smiles, looking surprised. “You actually like him, don’t you?”

I decide to feign ignorance. “Of course I like Michael. He’s my best friend.”

“Not Michael. Justin. You actually like him. Otherwise you'd have told me that he’s just a fuck and to forget about it.”

“He’s just a fuck, Debbie, forget about it.” 

Her smile grows softer. “Please, be careful, honey. If you mess this up, you have no idea of the consequences.”

“He’ll live,” I say again and turn to leave the kitchen to go upstairs. I’m done with this conversation.

“I’m sure he will. He’s not the one I’m worried about.”

I falter just for a second and then I make my way to the front door. I’m no longer in the mood to stay here. What the fuck is she talking about? When I turn to shut the door behind me, I can see Mikey at the top of the stairs, staring at me.

I've spent the last three days with Mikey. I suppose I’m kind of making it up to him because he was quite upset about the weekend. I really don’t get it. Michael knows that I consider him almost my brother. I would never fuck him. Not that I ever told him that, but he knows. If that was going to happen, it would have when we were younger and I was experimenting. Okay, I did jerk him off that one time, or almost so, but that was just playing. He knows that.

He’s seen me with lots of guys. When we're out together, he always sees me take guys into the backroom, or the toilets at Woody’s, or even the diner. He hardly ever says anything about them. Sometimes he even boasts to other people about how many guys I’ve fucked. But Justin is like a red flag to him. Not only does he turn all bratty when he sees Justin, he also whines about him endlessly when we're alone together. You'd think that Justin is somehow forcing me to fuck him.

I keep telling Michael that Justin is just a guy I fuck. He’s not my lover or my boyfriend – blech! I even tell him that he’s not my friend either, although that's starting to change. And why not? There’s nothing wrong with that. It doesn’t change what Michael and I have. We’ve been through a lot, at school and with my parents, and with going to clubs together for the first time. I keep telling him that it wouldn’t be the same without my trusted sidekick. He likes that. He thinks we’re Batman and Robin.

Yet, the first thing I hear when I turn up at his house at lunchtime on Monday is: “Your boss finally let you out to play?”

“Don’t scowl, Mikey. It’s not attractive. And Justin's no longer my boss.”

“Then why are you still hanging out with him?”

I shrug. I don’t really have a good answer for that, so I try the one that makes the most sense to me. “Free place. Free food. Unlimited fucking.”

“Well, you can have all that here,” he says and looks at me defiantly.

Woah! This is not how it works. He's not supposed to say things like that. “Except for the fucking,” I say, staring at him, emphasizing every word and willing him to agree. Because I don’t know what to do if he doesn’t.

There's a pause, then he lowers his eyes and nods, laughing a little. “Yeah, except for that.”

Relieved, I sling my arm over his shoulders. “You know that I love you, Mikey. Always have and always will.”

“Yeah, me too,” he says and everything's back in balance.

So the last three days I've spent mainly around Mikey’s house, except when I go home to sleep. My parents are used to me being away at the weekends now, but if I started to sleep elsewhere during the week as well, eventually they will want to know where I go. So I only do it occasionally.

It's strange, but whenever I spend a weekend with Justin, I find it hard to sleep in my own bed afterwards. Or maybe it’s not that strange. I just miss the hours of fucking we do, I suppose. It’s always easier to sleep after a good fuck.

So Michael and I are just back on track when Debbie starts laying into me in her kitchen. I’m used to her lecturing me on all sorts of things, but I never thought she'd be interested in whom I fuck – unless it’s Mikey, of course. I don’t really get what her grievance is. Is it age? Or the internship? Or Justin’s feelings? And somehow she manages to make it sound as if Justin and I have a relationship. We don’t have a relationship! We just fuck. And of course, Michael is listening to every word at the top of the stairs. Great! Now I have to start mending bridges with him all over again. Why can’t people just leave well enough alone?

Now, the most likely source for Debbie’s new information is Justin’s mother, so maybe I should  go and warn him, because his mother doesn’t strike me as someone who will just let this go. But when I make my way over there, I find that I’m too late. Justin and his mother are having a heated discussion already and Justin is practically screaming at her.

I only catch the last few sentences of their exchange, but it's enough.

For a few moments, we all seem to be frozen in place. Justin and his mother are both looking at me as if I just dropped out of the sky, when all I did was walk through the door that was left open.

Mrs. Taylor is the first one to recover. “Oh, hello, Brian, it’s nice to see you again.”

Justin’s head whips round and he looks at her as if she’s lost her mind, but you have to admire her poise. Much as I despise people like her, I can admire her capacity for keeping up a good front. They must be teaching that in country club school.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I smirk at her. I’m not sure why I'm amused. I haven’t quite processed what's going on, but I suppose the situation appeals to my usual predilection for awkwardness. In general, half the things I say are just for shock value and to see other people squirm. I enjoy seeing these two caught in uncomfortable circumstances. Justin is always so fucking composed and I bet his mother isn't used to anything other than being in complete control either.

Justin looks back to me and blushes furiously. Maybe he’s just remembered what he said, or screamed rather, and, actually, I’m just realizing it, too.

“Mom, can you give Brian and me a minute?” he says without looking at her.

“Justin…”

“Mom, could you just leave? Please! I need to talk to Brian.”

“Justin, I don’t think…”

“Mom!” He finally turns to look at her. “This is my place. I’m asking you to leave. Politely. Could you just do that for me?”

They stare at each other like two gladiators preparing for a fight and then she starts gathering her things. I'm wondering if I'll ever get to the stage where I'll have the guts to tell my parents to fuck off, which is what he's doing in ever so polite terms. I tend to avoid my parents at all costs, their company, their demands and their attention. This is where I want to end up one day, in a position where I can tell them to fuck off, and they actually do.

“I’ll call you,” she says and as she walks past me, she gives me a very polite, “Goodnight, Brian.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Taylor,” I say and add an ironic, “It was very nice to see you again.”

She neither flinches, nor hesitates. “You too,” she says over her shoulder and walks down the stairs without looking back again. Leaving the door open must be another thing they teach at that school.

I look at Justin, who's tapping his thumb nail against his bottom teeth nervously. “Debbie knows what’s going on,” he says. “As you can see, she sicced my mom onto me.”

“Yes, I can see that. How did Debbie find out?”

“I was at a GLC meeting last night. Dan was talking about you. I had to tell her to keep her quiet. If Dan finds out that you're – or were – my intern, he won't keep his mouth shut. Debbie was the lesser evil.”

Now here’s a development I didn’t expect. Not only does Justin already know, he's actually the one who told. And here I am, trying to warn him. What an idiot I’m turning out to be!

“And you didn’t feel like warning me?”

“Warn you about what?”

“Oh, I don’t know… Debbie maybe?”

“Did she say anything to you? Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect that.” Really? I suppose it's possible. Debbie does tend to wade in where angels fear to tread.

“I practically live at her house. Do you think I can do that without getting lectured at least once a week?”

He scratches his head and steps forward, but I withdraw several steps further into the loft. “How bad was it?” he asks, concerned now.

“On the Debbie Richter scale? I’d say a four. A lot less shouting than you did with your mom.”

He blushes again. “Yeah, I’m sorry you had to hear that.” He takes another couple of steps until he reaches the end of the kitchen island, but he stops again when I take more backwards steps. This situation is so fucked up, I don’t want him anywhere near me. He’s missing the point completely. I came here to warn him and it’s obvious that he didn’t think fit to do the same. I thought this little charade we’ve been playing for a few weeks now involved both of us. He may not have expected her to say anything to me, but I still feel like an idiot that I was concerned at all. And then there's the small matter of what he said to his mother.

“Yeah, me too.” I mean it. I really wish I hadn’t heard him say that.

“I was trying to explain to her… about you. In terms that she understands. This is difficult for her. I was just trying to placate her.”

I fail to see how him telling her that he loves me could in any way, shape or form placate her. It sure as hell wouldn't placate _my_ mother, nor me. In fact, I’m probably as horrified about it as she would be, albeit for different reasons. What the fuck does he think this is? Love doesn’t come into it, not for us, not for anybody. The kind of love he’s talking about doesn’t exist. It’s an illusion invented by Hallmark to sell cards, just like Coca Cola shaped everybody’s image of Santa.    

“So, you were just telling her breeder crap? To make her feel better? You didn’t mean any of it?”

He opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it again. His hand comes up to scratch behind his ear again, the nervous habit I noticed before. I raise my eyebrows to show him that I’m still waiting for an answer, and just like Michael on Monday, I'm willing him to say the right thing.

“Well, I certainly don’t think that us having sex has anything to do with you being my intern. So that was true… and I don’t think it means that I have a tendency to pedophilia just because you’re still in high school… I’m not perving on your age, I don’t think… and…” He looks down and shakes his head, all shut up in his own little world again. “Ah, fuck it!” He looks back up and holds my gaze. “Okay, yeah, I did mean it. All of it.”

I knew it! The little fuck! All this time he's been pretending to be on the same page, when he was just trying to… what exactly was he trying to do? To trap me? Was he hoping I'd fall in love with him and we would live happily ever after? He never made any demands. Was that just a ruse? He’s been playing me the whole time, pretending to… okay, so maybe he was never pretending because I knew all along what he wanted. But he's not supposed to say it. I was ignoring it and it worked for both of us. Now I can no longer ignore it and pretend that it’s not there.

“I have to go,” I say.

As I step forward, he takes a step to the side into my path to the door. It's not very effective with all the space around us and the door still being open, but his intention of stopping me is clear. Here it comes. _Don’t go, Brian. I love you. You are everything to me. Don’t leave me._ And whatever other pathetic nonsense he can come up with.

But his next words stop me dead. “Do you wanna fuck?”

“Do I wanna… ?”

He smiles. “It’s not such a difficult concept, Brian. Your cock, my ass. It’s not as if you don’t know how it’s done.”

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

**PART  THIRTEEN**

I really can’t think of anything else that might entice him to stay. And I'm worried that if he leaves, he will never come back. He will think about what I said and it will fester in his mind. In the end, he'll convince himself that everything has changed now and that he cannot do this anymore. Nothing has changed. It’s not as if I didn’t love him before he heard me say it. I did. I may not have admitted it quite that openly, but I’ve known it for a while now. I think he’s known it, too.

His face is a picture. Whatever he was expecting me to say, this was not it. The only way you can beat Brian is at his own game. You have to play by his rules, be all detached and if you want to be affectionate, you have to slip it in under the radar. The rest of the time you have to pretend it’s all about the sex, which is no great hardship either.

“Come here,“ he says and I walk over to him. He puts his hand round the back of my neck and pulls me into one of those kisses that he does so well. His tongue is mapping my mouth and his other hand starts undoing my pants. I’m lost before he even puts his hand on my hard-on.

“Blow me,” he says huskily and I sink to my knees without a second thought. Sucking him off is really not something I need to think about. There has never been an occasion when I didn’t want it as much as he does. Before Brian, I never got a blowjob without giving one in return and vice versa. You give and you take, but with him, it’s different. With him, giving is satisfaction in itself, once I even came without touching myself just from blowing him.

He's totally relaxed in front of me, except for his erection, which is leaking a little already. When I start, his hands find their way into my hair and I love that, how he cards his fingers through it and occasionally strokes my cheek and neck. Brian is a hedonist and he can let go completely. When he comes, I’m just a few strokes behind him and it’s more satisfying than many occasions where I've been on the receiving end from other people.

I smile up at him, hoping that this has taken his mind off what we were talking about. His hands are still framing my face and he’s gently running his thumb over my cheek. I don’t think he realizes that he’s doing it.

“Any chance that your mom might decide to come back?” he asks.

“Not likely but possible.”

“In that case, shouldn’t you have shut the door?”

I whirl round and realize that my front door is wide open. With the amount of people who know the security code for the door at the bottom, anybody could have walked in and seen us. Brian is grinning broadly. 

He knew the whole time! Of course, he did, he was facing the door. The little shit! I have to laugh, part in embarrassment and part in relief that we got away with it.

“What is with you and public sex?”

He shrugs. “It’s fun.”

Maybe it is, but my mother is not someone I'd like to include in that. I doubt that he would either unless he's in the mood to shock, which – granted – he usually is. I get up off the floor and shut the door.  “Do you want to have dinner with me? I’m making stir fry.”

“Sure. Why not?” He shrugs again, flanks over the back of the couch and switches on the TV. For a few moments, I just stand there and look at the back of his head. My predominant feeling is one of relief. He seems to have forgotten about my little slip-up and I'm hoping that it will stay that way. He has a great capacity for ignoring the things that he doesn’t want to deal with.

I wonder how many other people are out there who would consider a profession of love almost an insult. It’s just my luck, I suppose, that I had to pick one of them as my boyfriend. Oops, there's another word that Brian would consider an insult. But whatever he may think, the fact remains that he spends time with me on a regular basis and there's a lot of sex. So he may not be faithful, but I’m not asking for that. And he may not admit to a relationship, but I’m not asking for that either. At the moment, all I’m asking for is his time. And he seems happy enough to supply it.

I’m a little disappointed when, after dinner and a couple of rounds of sex on the couch, he gets up to get dressed, telling me that he needs to go home for the night. Things like that always make me realize how young he is. And I have to ask myself how high my own capacity for disregarding disquieting facts is, because normally I simply don’t think about his age. I refuse to let the idea that I may one day be confronted with his irate – and in his father’s case, violent – parents enter my head. Dealing with my mother will be bad enough and she is not protecting her own in this case.

I don’t get up to see him out the door, because I feel that it would somehow be too domestic for him. So I pretend to keep watching the TV, while I say as casually as I can: “There's a key on the counter for you, if you want it.”

He pauses almost imperceptibly before continuing to do up his fly. “What for?”

“The loft. The security code for downstairs is 4711.”

“Why would I need any of that?” He sounds as suspicious as if I had asked him for a key to his place, not offered him one to mine.

“I'll have to work late a lot over the next few weeks. If you want, you can let yourself in and hang out, when I’m not here. Or even when I am.”

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls his t-shirt over his head and lets himself out of the loft without another word. “Later, Brian,” I say quietly into the empty space and then crane my neck so I can check the top of the counter. I smile when I see that the key is gone. At least I know that he will have a safe place to go if things get rough for him. And I try very hard not to read anything else into it.

 

For about a week, Brian and I don’t see each other. I know he's been in the loft every day because I can smell the cigarette smoke, find my fridge and cupboards devoid of anything edible and have to tidy up the kitchen and the coffee table. I don’t mind any of that so much. What I do mind is that he seems to be avoiding me. On Friday, the couch is still warm when I sit on it. I know Brian too well by now not to realize that he’s doing it deliberately. I can’t make up my mind whether he’s testing me or if he just got all he ever wanted from me anyway, a free place to hang out and free food on top. This must be heaven for a teenager.

Daphne just laughs when I tell her what he’s doing. “You’ve just acquired a teenage son, Justin.”

“Don’t say that! That's kind of creepy with all the sex we’re having.”

“He’s a teenager, Justin, he’s pushing you.”

“And what do I do now? Push back?”

“I don’t know. Depends on how annoyed you are.”

The thing is, I’m not really that annoyed until the weekend passes with no sign of him. I contemplate going to Woody’s or Babylon, but then decide that that's probably what he’s expecting me to do. So I don’t. I can wait this out.

I have a long confrontation with my mother, when I go over there for Sunday dinner. I was tempted not to go, but she would just turn up at my loft again and at least this way, I can leave when it gets too much. I even bring her flowers to apologize for being rude to her and kicking her out.

We're going round and round in circles with her pointing out all the pitfalls of Brian’s young age, legal, emotional and social, and me reiterating in polite terms that I consider my relationship with him private.

Molly just pulls a face when the conversation starts and asks, “Your boyfriend is two years younger than me?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“So, the guy you’re having sex with is two years younger than me?”

“Molly!” Mom admonishes and for blessed five minutes the discussion shifts away from me to how well equipped Molly is to talk about things like that at her age. I don’t envy her. She will always be Mom’s baby and being a girl probably makes it worse.

In the end, nothing is resolved because there is nothing _to_ resolve. Brian is none of my mother’s business and her opinions don’t come into my decisions. We agree to disagree. It's all very civil.

By Tuesday, I have to grit my teeth as I swipe leftover food wrappers into the garbage bag and then go out to the convenience store to restock the food in the cupboard and the fridge once again. I know he’s baiting me and I’m determined to resist.

Then on Wednesday – finally – I hear some music coming from the loft when I get home. Seems like a bit of patience is all it takes sometimes. But when I pull back the door, the first person I see is not Brian but Michael. He looks a little like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar as he's standing there by the couch. There's no sign of Brian.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Then Brian comes out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips and both Michael and I are equally speechless, probably for the same reason. A half-naked Brian would make any gay man lose coherency.

“Oh, hey,” he says to me, as if he didn’t expect me here, and drops his towel to get dressed. I can see Michael’s eyes nearly coming out of his head. What the fuck is Brian playing at? As if I don’t know! He's so obvious it's almost laughable.

“How are you, Michael?” I say conversationally, just as Brian pulls his pants over his naked ass. This is the first time I’ve seen him go commando and I can’t help wondering who this convenience is for.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Michael finally finds his manners and actually manages to tear his eyes away from his friend to look at me. So Debbie taught him something after all. He must have just worked out that he’s in my place and that I’m twelve years his senior. I suppose the suit I’m wearing helps, too.

I nod and try a smile, but by that time Brian has come down from the bedroom area, now fully dressed, and slings his arm over Michael’s shoulders. “Mikey and I are just on our way to Woody’s, aren’t we, Mikey?”

I have to give Michael credit for looking uncomfortable and I look at Brian to see if he will at least be polite enough to issue an invitation to me. He tilts his head and smiles a smile that is as false as it is bright.

“So, I see you around,” he says cheerfully and pulls Michael with him towards the door.

I have to force myself to not turn around to watch them leave. I stare at the floor by my feet and listen to them talking and laughing all the way down the stairs until I can finally hear the door at the bottom fall shut. Only then do I turn and shut my own door.

I lean my forehead against the cool metal and wonder if I’m going about this all the wrong way. I should call Daphne. Or not. I can’t run to my best friend every time I have a problem. I’m not that kind of person. Or at least, I wasn’t before I met Brian. So I go and have a shower. Then I clean up my place and go shopping to replenish all the food. By that time, I’ve lost my appetite and just sit on the couch to do a charcoal drawing of Brian as he pulls his pants over his bare ass. It turns out rather well.

On Thursday, I just find a mess and no food again, but on Friday I can hear music blaring out of my loft all the way from the bottom of the stairs. The lesbian who lives under me passes me on the stairs and asks me what the hell is going on. I tell her that I will get it sorted.

When I get upstairs, I find my place full of people I've never seen before, which is no great surprise since they're all teenagers. They're dancing or just talking and I can see that half of them are considerably drunk. Making my way over to the CD player, I switch the music off and everything comes to a screeching halt. In the bedroom area, I can see two couples making out. Straight couples. On my bed.

I look around until I see Brian. “Make them leave!”

“Who the fuck are you?” some guy asks me and comes over, trying to push me out of the way to switch the music back on. If he wasn’t so young, I would hit him even though he’s taller than me, but Brian is there in a flash, pushing him back and planting himself in front of me.

“Right, guys,” he laughs. “Daddy’s home. Time for y’all to leave.”

There are some protests and I make my way into the bathroom because that's the only place I can be alone in my own apartment at the moment. Locking the door, I switch the shower to as hot as I can stand it and let the water drown out any noise. I stay under the spray, until the water runs cold enough to make me shiver and when I come out of the bathroom, I am alone. Even though it's only eight o’clock, I change the linen on my bed and get in, hoping that when I wake up tomorrow morning, my life will have stopped being this shitty.

The next day, it takes me an hour to clean up the mess. It's a complete mystery to me how all my art stuff has remained untouched through a teenager party, but there it is, neatly stacked, as if that particular area had a force field around it the whole time. I suppose I should be thankful for small mercies.

The only thing that keeps me going at the moment is the knowledge that Brian is doing this on purpose. I realize that giving him a key right after the ‘I love him’ fiasco was probably a huge mistake, but I was worried that I would never again have the guts to even broach the subject. I’ve never been one to play games in my relationships, but unfortunately Brian does nothing but. The question is who is going to break first.

After breakfast, I go to the gym on Liberty. We only joined there so we could have access for the photo shoot we were doing for Brown Athletics, but as the membership is paid up for a year, I might as well make use of it. I ignore the guys who are cruising me and wonder what I should do with the rest of my weekend. There's an exhibition I wanted to see at the Sidney Bloom Gallery, which I might check out tomorrow. Other than that I feel compelled to paint, a lot. I'm happy to realize that the exercise actually makes me feel a bit better.

But that only lasts until I get home to find Brian fucking some guy on my couch. I can only stare in disbelief. Only once before did I walk in on one of my boyfriends doing something similar to me and they hadn’t got to the actual being naked bit yet. Luckily, that was at his place, so I could turn on my heels and never speak to the guy again. What do you do when it's happening in your own home? I'm still asking myself that question when the guy comes shuddering all over my couch and Brian is not far behind. All I can think is ‘now I have to clean the fucking couch’. How bizarre a thought is that?

Brian pulls out and slaps the guy on his thigh. “Time for you to leave.” The other guy has just spotted me and, probably sensing the tension, dresses in a hurry before he squeezes past me out the door. Brian lazily ties off the condom, which he drops in the middle of the coffee table and puts on his jeans without bothering to do them up. I shut the door as I finally find the strength to move.

“Here are the ground rules,” I say, walking to the kitchen island to drop my gym bag on the counter. “You can use my loft to hang out in, either alone or with one other person, as long as you're not fucking that person in here. You can eat all my food, but I expect you to tidy up after yourself. And you keep the noise to a level that doesn’t make the neighbors complain.”

“You're telling me what to do now?” He seems amused and I’m sure that it's not accidental that he’s come around to lean casually against the back of the couch, displaying just an inkling of pubic hair where his jeans remain unbuttoned.

“No, I don’t. I’m telling you what to do in _my_ loft. Nobody’s forcing you to come here if you don’t like the rules.”

“You didn’t say there were rules when you gave me the key.”

“No, I didn’t. That’s because I forgot that you were raised by wolves.” I walk over into the bathroom and get into the shower. This is what my life has come to? That I have to hide in my shower as the only retreat left? Looks like I’m the one to break first after all, because I know that I've reached my limit and this is where I draw the line. I can feel my eyes water from more than the steam and I let my tears flow freely, grateful that they get washed away immediately with the water. I will allow myself this one moment of abject misery and then I'll start the rest of my life.

Because I know that when I get back out there, Brian will be gone and his key will be on the counter. And I will never see him again unless I go looking. I think back to what Daphne said to me about Brian being vulnerable and I pray that I haven’t done too much damage already. And then it strikes me as ironic that I worry about a guy who has set out to deliberately irritate and downright hurt me over the last few days, while my own heart is breaking into a million pieces. I sit down on the barely warm floor of the shower unit and just let the water wash over me, tilting my head back against the glass wall. It's lucky that I have an extra large tank, so that the water won’t run out for a good long while.

 

*******

 

There are two different ways to have sex in public places. One is doing it in backrooms and at the baths, surrounded by other people having sex. What makes it hot is the exhibitionistic element involved, the people around you watching you and getting off on it or you watching the people around you and their fucking enhancing your own. A bit like watching porn while having sex, only ten times better.

The other way is having sex where you might get caught. That’s even hotter because of the danger factor. Not everybody likes it because if you can’t let go of your fears, then you won’t enjoy it and instead you just think about getting caught the whole time. But if you can channel the anxiety into the fuck, it’s amazing. Good places for this kind of public sex are restrooms and alleyways or your work place if you have the balls for that.

Getting Justin to give me a blowjob in his loft with the door wide open is just about the hottest thing I’ve ever done. Part of it is due to the fact that I don’t think he realizes that the door's still open and it’s very satisfying that I can make him forget that. The other thing is that I’m amused by the idea of his mother doubling back and seeing us.

The thrill of possibly getting caught is a lot more fun than I imagine actually getting caught would be. I have to admit that even I wouldn’t find it funny if Mrs. Taylor did actually walk in on us. Justin would hate it and, let’s face it, with where his teeth are in relation to my cock, a surprise like that might turn out to be very painful indeed. But in the end, I forget all about where we are anyway, because Justin’s blowjobs can make me forget my own name.

Justin is a good sport about it. I like that about him, that he can laugh at himself and that he never holds a grudge. He’s never moody, like Michael. I also like that he has a life independent of me. He doesn’t rely on me for his happiness or even his entertainment. If I’m here, it’s good and if I’m not here, he doesn’t make a fuss. It gives me the freedom to do what I want.

Maybe when he told his mother that he loves me, he was just trying to make her feel better. Because if he really did, he would be like Michael, wouldn’t he? He would pressure me into spending more time with him or being more like a boyfriend or wanting me to tell him that I love him, too. And he would definitely try to make me stop fucking other people, not eye-fuck me in the backroom while he has his dick up some guy’s ass.

I decide that he was just saying it to keep his mother happy. Mothers understand love. It fits into their nice little breeder worldview and if you throw the word love around, they can even forget that you’re gay. Because you’re not that different, are you? What a crock of shit! It’s not about love. All men just wanna fuck and all men stray, and the ones who don’t just don’t have the opportunity to, otherwise they would, too. It’s stupid to think that two guys together will ever only fuck each other. If married men can’t pull it off, how could two guys do it? And what's more, why the fuck would they ever want to?

So we go back to normal. We eat, watch TV and fuck. Then I have to go home. I really can’t wait to get out of my parents’ house, so that I can be my own boss and go home when I want, or not at all if I feel like it. Justin gives me a key to the loft. It makes me stop for just a second. Is he mad? Whatever next? A marriage proposal? On the other hand, I won’t pass up the opportunity to have a place to stay where no one will bother me. I would be stupid to. But if Justin thinks that this will tie me to him, he has another thing coming.

For the first couple of days, I go to the loft on my own. I lounge about and watch TV and eat all the food in the place. The next day, he's tidied up and replaced the food. So far, so good. I make sure that I leave before he gets home because that wasn’t part of the deal. If he wants payment in trade for this, he will have to come out and admit it – and admit that his principles are for shit while he’s at it. He didn’t give me a key out of the kindness of his heart. He wants something in return for it. Everybody does. I’m quite willing to pay but only if he admits that that’s how it works.

The whole weekend I expect a phone call from him, asking me where I am and when I will be round. But there's nothing. I spend my time the usual way, hanging with Mikey, going to Woody’s and Babylon at night. Surprisingly, there's no sign of Justin there either.

So the next week, I increase the heat a little. I take Mikey to the loft with me. He's suitably impressed with the place, if a bit uncomfortable, but as we leave before Justin gets there, he seems to relax a little. He can’t believe that Justin just tidies up after us and buys fresh food without a word. I think we can both agree that the guy is slightly weird. Or stupid. Still, I have to stop Michael from tidying up every night. Debbie has really done a number on him. Of course, he doesn’t understand what I’m trying do here.

On Wednesday, I manage to time it just right, so that Justin catches us before we go out. I tried to do that on Tuesday as well, but Justin was late and I don’t want Michael to catch on that this is a game. So I dress in front of them and I know I have their undivided attention. Michael's seen me naked a few times and he always does that I’m-not-really-looking thing. Yeah, like I don’t know any better.

When I come down to where they are, Mikey is civil to Justin for the first time. Maybe it’s the suit – which Justin is wearing very well, as always – or the fact that we're actually at his place. Justin certainly appears to have the upper hand in this situation, at least with Mikey he does. I know he wants me to stay. I can see it in his eyes, or he wants to at least come with us, which would be only polite. But for that he would have to say something and he’s not there yet. So we leave without him. I must say he has a lot more patience than anybody I've ever come across.

“Does he never say anything at all?” Mikey asks incredulously the next day, taking in the tidy table and kitchen.

“Nope.” But he will. It’s just a matter of time. All he’s done so far is move all his drawing stuff further into the corner. Probably doesn’t want Mikey to see all the sketches he’s done of me.

“Brian,“ Michael starts, but I pull him onto the couch.

“Stop worrying, Mikey. You know what we should do? We should have a party.”

“What? Brian, no! Are you out of your mind? You can’t have a party here without his permission.”

“Why not? It'll liven up the place. Come on, it'll be fun. I tell you what. I’ll give Kirby a call.”

“What? You hate Kirby. I hate Kirby. Everybody hates Kirby.”

That is very true. Kirby ruled the school until he left last year, much to everyone’s relief, pupils and teachers alike. He’s a bully and an idiot. But he throws the best parties and can always get you drinks and drugs, which is probably the reason people overlook his unsavory attributes. I can’t stand the guy. But I know that he fancies me, albeit in the I’ll-knock-the-stuffing-out-of-you-faggot kinda way. He won’t hesitate to do what I suggest. He didn’t when I fucked him in the locker room last year.

We start partying around six o’clock on Friday. The good thing about high school kids on vacation is that they're always at a loss for something to do, especially during the last week before school. I didn’t want to leave it any later than six, in case Justin comes home early. This will have so much more impact if the party is in full swing when he gets here.

It’s a good thing I don’t like any of these people anyway because I spend the next two hours guarding Justin’s art. I like his stuff. It would be a real shame if it got damaged, so I make sure that it doesn’t. Jeez, how can anybody think that this is fun? There’s loud music and dancing – of sorts – but no real action, not even straight action. Boring.

Then Justin gets home. His face doesn’t even crack. I suppose, the loud music has given him some advance warning. Shame. I would have liked to see his surprise. Kirby tries to push him out of the way and I won’t have that. I move between the two of them. If he touches Justin, I'll flatten him, but he’s too drunk to do anything anyway.

Justin disappears into the bathroom without looking at me any further and by the time, Michael and I have pushed the last person through the door, he still hasn’t come out.

“We should tidy up,” Michael says, looking around the mess.

“Nah, let’s just go to Woody’s.”

“What? Aren’t you gonna apologize to Justin?”

“What for? He said I could use his place.”

He doesn’t say anything after that and follows me out, probably glad that he doesn’t have to face Justin. However, in Woody’s, he's quick to tell Ted and Emmett what happened.

“So let me get this straight,” Ted says. “The guy gives you a key to his place and the best thing you can think of to repay him is to eat all his food and mess the place up? And when that's getting boring, you invite a bunch of school mates round to trash his place? What exactly are you trying to do to the poor guy?”

“Nobody trashed anything. Not much anyway. Justin doesn’t mind.”

“You know what your problem is, Brian?” Emmett asks in a solemn voice.

“I’m sure I won’t be able to prevent you from telling me,” I say, eyeing some guy at the bar to make it obvious that I’m really not interested in what he has to say.

“You don’t know what’s good for you.”

I laugh. “I know exactly what’s good for me,” I say and make my way over to the guy to show them what I mean. The guy's not at all opposed to going into the restroom with me, so what do they know anyway?

The next day, I have a stroke of luck. I've been going to the Liberty Gym a few times since we had to join to be able to take those photos for the Brown Athletics campaign. It’s always a good place to pick up guys and the steam room is practically a backroom with all the action going on in there. Plus, I could never afford a proper gym before. It was always just push-ups and sit-ups in my bedroom.

Today, after I’ve been there for about an hour, I spot Justin coming in. He doesn’t see me and I fade further into the background to keep it that way. When he looks like he's finishing up, I grab a guy I've been cruising for a while and tell him that I have a better place to go, when he suggests the steam room. He grins and follows me to the loft.

When Justin turns up twenty minutes later, we're in the middle of a fuck. For a little while there, I was worried that Justin wouldn’t turn up in time, but he couldn’t have timed it better. I think he likes watching me fuck other guys. He always does in the backroom and now he can’t seem to look away either. I had a feeling he's a lot kinkier than he lets on.

The other guy doesn’t notice him until he comes. Then he seems a little embarrassed, judging by the way he pulls his clothes on in a hurry, before he slinks out the door, giving Justin a wide berth. I put my jeans back on, and come round the couch to lean against it. Let’s see if Justin can resist my assets when they're barely concealed.

I can see him gearing up to give me a dressing down. It’s been a long time coming and I know what to expect. _Give me back my key. Get out. I never want to see you again. You're the scum of the earth._ Or maybe he’s gonna go the other, equally unimaginative, route. _I love you. You’re hurting me. How could you do this to me?_ I have a retort for either one of those, but when he just sets some ground rules, I’m hard pressed to find a mocking response. 

I'm angry that he’s laying down the law. He’s not my father or my boyfriend, but I have to admit that he does own this place and maybe has a right to tell me what to do in it while I’m here. Since he’s paying for it all. On the other hand, I'm tempted to just throw it all back in his face, give him his key back and be done. I don’t need more rules in my life.

It's his last remark that throws me.

“I forgot that you were raised by wolves.”

I know it’s just an expression. He’s not actually referring to my parents, true as his description may be. He’s letting me know that he thinks I've moved past the boundaries of common decency and it’s his tone that makes me stop and listen. It's so… not angry, not disappointed, not pitying… just desolate. As if he's just too fucking tired to deal with this.

And then he retreats into the bathroom again, like he can’t stand being in the same room with me any longer. I hesitate for a few minutes. Maybe I did go a little far, but he was just so fucking patient that I had to escalate things to get any reaction at all out of him. Well, here it is and it's not what I expected. Not an accusation or a reprimand or a dismissal, just a line drawn in the sand. 

I get some paper towels from the kitchen and wipe the couch clean of the come splatter and put the condom in the trash. Luckily, Justin has a leather couch. We've wiped come off it loads of times before. Then I make my way to the bathroom. The sight that greets me there makes my stomach drop a little. Justin is sitting on the floor in the shower, just letting the water drench him. He's put his head back and his knees drawn up and his eyes are closed.

When I open the shower door, he startles and scrambles to his feet, as if he’s embarrassed or frightened. His eyes are a little red, but that’s probably just from being in the shower so long. I move closer to him and slowly bend down to kiss him, half expecting him to push me away, but he doesn’t, of course. Not very many gay guys would.

I kiss him slowly and deeply, wrapping my arms around him to pull him closer. Kissing Justin is an end unto itself, but at the moment it’s not enough. I move my lips along his jaw line, down his neck and chest, until I get so low that I need to kneel to carry on. He looks down at me with a serious expression until I start blowing him and then he just leans his head back and enjoys.

When I get back up afterwards, he starts kissing me again, but as he makes a move to return the favor, I pull him closer and shake my head. “The bed,” I say and he nods.

Outside, I take the towel from the radiator, dry his hair and then wrap it around his body. Only then do I start drying myself. His bathroom is always pleasantly warm, even when you’re wet. He still hasn’t said a word, but he lets me lead him to the bed and we end up making out for a long time. Eventually, I hand him a condom to move things along because there's only so much kissing a naked Justin I can take without needing to fuck.

He smiles faintly and tears it open to put it on me. He is really dense sometimes.

“It’s for you.”

He frowns. Not quite the reaction I was expecting. Unless they're total bottoms, not many guys would pass up the chance to top me, not that anybody has in a good while now.

“I know you know how to top,” I say in an amused voice, trying to suppress my misgivings at what I’m doing. I’m not sure how I feel about Justin actually fucking me, I just want to give him something because he still looks a little dejected. I don’t like the idea that it was me who caused it and I have nothing else to give. “You’re good. Show me what you’ve got.”

He shakes his head. No? I’m offering myself to him and he tells me no? What the fuck?

“Could you just fuck me?” It’s the first time he’s spoken since our showdown in the living area. He just sounds so incredibly tired. Maybe he overdid it at the gym. He did look pretty focused on what he was doing, like someone who keeps going by willpower alone.

“Okay.” I must say I'm a little relieved. This isn't how we work and I can’t gauge how it would affect the balance of what's going on between us. He’s got the advantage in all other aspects, so I don’t want to lose control over this part. Not that I don’t think he could make it good for me.

He smiles and puts the condom on me, but when he moves to get on all fours, I stop him and push him onto his back. With the strange mood he’s in at the moment, I want to see his face. I need to know that he wants this and is enjoying it. Plus, this way I can kiss him. All the way through, from the moment I push into him to the moment when his eyes grow dilated and he says my name in that way that he has. It always makes me shoot. Only this time, when I do, I can hear myself say his name as well. 

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

**PART  FOURTEEN**

“You did _what_?” Daphne almost shouts.

“Shhh… can we keep this to ourselves?” I look around furtively, but while I get some appraising looks from the other customers in Woody’s, being here with Daphne usually pushes me out of the ‘interesting’ category for these guys. I suppose we do look almost like a couple when we're out together. “I declined,” I say quietly, leaning my head forwards, so that we can move closer together over the table and speak more quietly.

“Why? You’ve been telling me how much you want to and when he offers, you say no?”

I shrug. “I want to top him because that’s what he wants, not because he’s apologizing for being a shit. I can’t stand this feeling that he’s just doing it as some kind of payment.”

She nods a few times as if in understanding. Then she says in that deadpan voice that she has, “You just called him a whore.”

“What? No, I didn’t!”

“Sorry, but you did. If you think he’s just fucking you for a place to hang out and free food, then you’re calling him a whore.”

“It’s different for guys, Daph. Sex is an end in itself. Guys fuck each other just because they’re there. As long as you get off, it’s all good. It doesn’t mean anything. I suppose he wouldn’t fuck me if he hated it, but it also doesn’t mean that he loves me or even likes me. It’s just sex.”

“And since you’re also a guy, you feel exactly the same way?”

“Of course not. I _told_ you.”

“So let me get this straight:you’ve given him a key to your loft because you love him and you want him around and you want him to have a safe place to go. And you also have sex with him because you love him. But Brian is only at your place because he likes the freebies. He’s only fucking you because he’s paying you back for what you’re supplying. And, ah yes, because he’s a teenager and fucks anything with a pulse as _all_ teenagers do. And of course, he can’t get it anywhere else. And this is _why_ exactly? Because Brian doesn’t actually have any feelings? Or because his secret identity is being a hustler, so he gets paid for sex all the time? Or because he doesn’t have any friends, he could possibly hang out with and eat there for free?”

I stare at her. You'd think that I would have got used to her forthright statements over the years, but I never do. Every time I'm stunned into silence and I have yet to come across one where she was wrong.

“So what are you saying?”

She leans back a bit and puts on her mock serious face. “From a professional viewpoint you two are very interesting. Shared delusions are actually quite rare. I should write a paper.”

“What delusion?”

“Well, you're under the delusion that he doesn’t have any feelings for you. And so is he.”

When Daphne talks to me, she always seems so logical. Everything makes sense and her knowledge of the human psyche gives it added weight. On top of that, ever since I started things with Brian, she's been saying a lot of stuff that I want to hear. Usually, her analyses of my relationships amount to a dissection with a subsequent disposal of the body. But with Brian, she actually encourages me.

Unfortunately, that only works as long as she's there to reinforce it. When I'm with Brian, it just seems like so much garbage to me. He's remote most of the time. Any affection, verbal or physical, is likely to send him off on a night of fucking – other guys. Never mind Brian being a whore, half the time he treats me like one. Like I'm just there to supply him with sex whenever he feels like it. I hardly ever make the first move. It may have something to do with the fact that, for me, the first move is a caress or a languid kiss, for him, it's saying 'I wanna fuck you' or, if I'm lucky, he'll phrase it as a question.

He's started coming round to the loft a lot, I'd say five days a week. A lot of the time, he's there to study. When I come home, he'll sit at the dining table, surrounded by piles of books and notes and will no more than grunt at my greeting. I usually just get changed and find something quiet to do – which is what I normally do anyway – and then cook or order take-out when he announces that he's hungry.

On other days, Michael will be there as well. Then there's no studying and they revert back to eating all my food and watching TV. For a long time, I didn’t know what to make of Michael. He's so much more of a teenager than Brian is – moody, childish and immature. In my own home, he's very polite, but when we meet in Woody’s or at Babylon, he's still somewhat hostile.

Then, one day we start talking about comics because he has brought some Captain Astro issues round, a comic I've never heard of. Apparently, it was discontinued a couple of years ago. I'm more interested in the graphics, but when I read it, I point out to him that this character is obviously gay. That gets his attention. He gets all animated and, in the end, confesses that his dream is to produce his own gay comic. I casually remark that I always wanted to be an illustrator or animator and suddenly we have common ground for the first time.

I'm intrigued that he has given it plenty of thought, by the sounds of it. We bounce some ideas of each other and I make some drawings, but that only lasts two days and then I don’t see Michael at the loft for two weeks. Brian says he has to study and he cannot do that with Michael around, but I notice that there's less studying and more sex in those two weeks. Not that there isn’t usually sex anyway. We always get round to that before he goes home.

At the weekends, Brian stays with me now. Well, he sleeps at my place. He goes out during the day, rarely telling me where he's going. I paint or go out myself, to see Daphne and my mother and some art when there's anything interesting at the galleries. In the evenings, we usually end up at Woody’s and Babylon with Brian’s friends.

In many ways, that's easier now. Michael has shifted from open hostility to grudging tolerance of my presence in the group, unless we get into a discussion about the comic – which we've decided to call _Rage_ – then he suddenly forgets that he doesn’t like me, but usually Brian drags either Michael or me away soon after we get started.

Ted has got friendlier, too, since Michael doesn’t seem to completely hate me anymore. He's probably the one I have the most in common with because he's already working and has a more security conscious attitude to life. It doesn’t come as any great surprise to me that he's an accountant. It suits him somehow. He's also very smart and I really like him. Because, as much as I like Emmett, who's one of the sweetest guys I've ever met, I cannot help seeing him as a child, who should be in school and not hang out in gay nightclubs.

Things seem more settled. No matter how much Brian scoffs at the idea that we're in a relationship, everybody else seems to have accepted it. So much so that both Ted and Emmett make concerted efforts to distract me whenever Brian drags some guy into the men's room or the backroom while we're out together. As if I don’t notice it as long as they're talking to me. I notice it alright and it hurts a little every time. But at the end of the night, he comes home with me and that's as much as I can hope for. It's more than I expected when we started out, so I tell myself that I'm on the right track. 

And I couldn't do anything else anyway. Considering that I've broken up with boyfriends over a single indiscretion before, it astounds me that I'm putting up with what he does. But we're at such different stages in our lives that all my rules have been suspended. I cannot expect him to behave as if he was my age. Anyway, it's debatable whether Brian, if left to his own devices, will not behave exactly the same as he does now when he _is_ my age, but with the right subliminal guidance he might just become the man he has the potential to be. And there's really not much choice involved. I cannot give him up and I cannot change him. It is what it is.

Daphne officially meets Brian one evening when Michael is at the loft, too. I bring the conversation round to comics, thinking that it'll give Michael a chance to participate because Brian never seems to make much of an effort to include him. We get into a discussion about how a lot of comic book characters are vigilantes and on to vigilantism in general. It's when Brian quotes ‘the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’ that Michael stops taking part. I fall silent, too, because Daphne is just about the smartest person I've ever met and this is more like listening to a school debate – at championship level. I cannot make up my mind if I'm glowing with pride because Brian can hold his own so well or because Daphne gives as good as she gets. 

Sometimes, I think that after meeting – and managing to impress – Daphne, all that remains for Brian to become an official boyfriend is taking him to dinner at my mom’s. Yeah, like I'm _ever_ going to suggest that! Although, I must admit that my mother hints at it heavily sometimes – when she doesn’t pretend that he doesn’t exist. I don't tell him that either.

“Where are you going to be for Thanksgiving?” I ask him one night, while we're lying on the couch between round one and two, which is the only time really when he allows anything that could be even remotely construed as intimacy. As long as there's sex afterwards, he accepts being plastered together and some caressing on my part. He even plays with my hair.

“I have to be home for Thanksgiving dinner. My grandparents come round every year. The rest of the weekend I'm usually at Mikey’s.”

“You could come here, if you like. I have to go to my mother’s on Thursday and then I’m going to be away for the rest of the weekend. But feel free to come here.”

I can feel him mulling that over before he finally comes out with, “Where are you going?” in the most nonchalant of voices.

“New York. There’s an exhibition at the MoMA, which I've been looking forward to seeing for a while. I’ve booked this a long time ago. ”It's true, but I wonder if I'll enjoy it as much now that the alternative is possibly spending a long weekend with Brian.

“It’s all right for some, isn’t it?” he says and his voice is a little strained.

“Yeah.” I pause and debate with myself whether I can risk it. Then I tell myself not to be such a coward all the time. “You could come… if you can get away.” I deliberately don’t look at him while he's silent for a full two minutes, according to the counter on the DVR.

“Okay.”

I try to suppress the smile that's threatening to break out on my face. It's never a good idea to appear too pleased around Brian, but I cannot help a, “Really?” escaping me, hoping that it doesn’t sound as insanely delighted as I feel.

“Sure. It’s New York. Great clubs. Hot guys. Why wouldn’t I?”  

“Will your parents let you?”

“Not if I tell them I’m going to New York with you. But if I tell them I’m staying with Michael, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

I try and imagine myself trying to go to New York over Thanksgiving without my parents’ knowledge when I was seventeen. Needless to say, it would have been impossible. I cannot believe that his parents take so little interest that he can stay away for days, pretending to be somewhere he's not, even going out of state. At his age, I always wished to be less monitored, but now I think that even then it would have made me feel unloved if I had been.

But to mention anything like that would be suicidal. There are subjects which are taboo between us. There are the obvious ones:love, relationships, the future, but there are other ones as well, which I don’t always spot in time: his family, my family, Michael, and a myriad of other matters which will make Brian scramble for the exit in no time at all.

His friends are divided over what we're doing. Ted warns me that I can get into a lot of trouble if this comes out. He mumbles something about kidnapping charges and I think he's exaggerating more than a little. Michael is sulking because he'll be alone over Thanksgiving, well, without Brian anyway. As much as he's trying to accept what is going on, he still looks hurt every time Brian goes home with me or sends him home from the loft so we can be alone. I can’t really blame him for that and I give him points for effort.

But it's Emmett whose reaction puts it all in jeopardy, albeit unintentionally. He almost tears up when he hears what we're planning and talks about ‘how romantic’ this getaway is. I can see Ted giving him a warning look and Brian is out of his seat at the table in Woody’s like a shot and off to the bathroom. He's nothing if not predictable. Thanks for that, Emmett.

Brian more or less disappears for the rest of the evening. When he comes back from the men's room twenty minutes later, he announces that he's bored and wants to go to Babylon, where he spends three hours dancing and fucking anybody who isn't me. I see Ted give Emmett a serious talking-to and Michael cannot quite suppress a smile. Yeah, I can imagine what he's going to tell Brian all week.

I dance a little and wonder if it's worth hanging about for Brian because sometimes, when he's really riled up, he goes home with Michael. And that's one of the reasons why I don’t blame Michael for anything, because when Brian goes with him, I feel exactly the same as Michael does when Brian comes with me. Nobody can really help how they feel. The only thing I can do is react more maturely and even that I don’t always pull off. I've been known to kick a lot of public trash cans on my lonely way home.

Just as I decide to go home, Brian appears at my side, slings his arm over my shoulders and asks if I'm ready to go in a tone that makes it sound as if I was the one insisting on staying so long. I'm equally surprised that he's there every day when I come home from work during the week and the only day that I don’t see him is Thursday. 

Brian has brought over more clothes during the last week or so. He points out that he cannot very well walk out of his parents’ house with a big suitcase on Friday morning without attracting attention, so he's brought it to the loft in batches.

On Thursday, it strikes me as ironic that it makes me uncomfortable that Brian lies to his parents about where he's going and yet, when I discuss my New York trip with my mother over Thanksgiving dinner, I not once mention Brian’s name or that I'm not going alone. At least, Brian has an excuse, but my mother is hardly going to stop me or even try to, so why the secrecy? On the other hand, it's none of her business.

I try so hard to convince myself that I'll be neither surprised nor disappointed if he pulls out at the last minute, that I'm almost stunned when he climbs into the jeep the next morning.

“Tell me again why we're _driving_ to New York,” he says by way of a greeting in a most casual voice.

I have to grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles whiten in an effort not to throw my arms around him and smother him with kisses.

It's pathetic how excited I am at having him with me. I remember how back in May, when I booked this trip, I had to fight getting upset because, yet again, I was planning a trip by myself. And now I not only have someone to go with, it’s Brian! How can anybody not be excited about that?

I wish I'd booked a different hotel though. I know that part of Brian’s enjoyment in Chicago came from all the luxuries, but it's impossible to change to a different hotel over Thanksgiving, which is also the reason we're driving – no flights available at short notice. Luckily, I've booked a double room. Maybe at the time I was secretly hoping that when November came around I would have someone to go with. But I still feel like apologizing to Brian, which I do, until I feel myself pressed against the wall in our room.

He kisses me for a long time and when he pulls away, I wait for him to take this further, because he always does. He never kisses me just for the hell of it. When he doesn’t, I ask him, what it was for. He just shrugs and asks if he needs a reason. He doesn’t, of course, but he just always has one, the same one every time:wanting to fuck.

When he lies down on the bed, I think that this is it now, but then we're just lying next to each other, talking. I tentatively put a hand on his waist and when he doesn’t say anything, I move it slowly up to his face, just caressing him. He's so beautiful. Oops, did I just say that out loud?

I scoot closer and kiss him. This is the longest we've ever gone kissing and stroking without tearing each others’ clothes off. I wouldn’t mind getting on to that, but I'm enjoying the intimacy and gentleness he's allowing for once. So much so that I fall asleep, resting my head on his chest. It seems like only a minute, but it's more like thirty in the end. I can feel him come awake as well.

“Brian?”

“Hhm?”

“I wouldn’t particularly mind it if you fucked me right now.”

He chuckles. “I see what I can do.”

 

*******

 

I've been a good little boy for a few weeks now. I keep Justin’s place reasonable tidy, I don’t play my music too loud, I don’t have parties and I don’t bring tricks over. Check, check, check, and check. Actually, most of that suits me as well. For the first time, I have a place where I can study without interruption. No whispering, giggling girls like there are in the library. No parents wanting me to do chores when I’m in the middle of my math homework. No Mikey asking why I’m still studying when he finished more than an hour ago.

Even when Justin gets home, all he does is say ‘hey’ and find something to do, usually reading or drawing. When I get hungry, he orders some food. Or sometimes he cooks and although his food is nicer than the take-out, it makes me a little antsy. I feel like he's the wife cooking my dinner. I think Justin knows that, but every three days or so, he says he's had enough of fast food and insists on cooking a meal. I let him. His house, his rules. Like he said, I can always leave. And I will, when I’ve had enough.

Emmett was completely wrong. I know when I’m onto a good thing. How can I not? I realize that just having peace and quiet after school may be the difference between having a great SAT score and an outstanding one. I appreciate having a place to go to that my parents don’t know about. Sometimes I even regret ever bringing Michael here. 

And then there's Justin. I still can’t figure him out. He's the most unassuming person I've ever come across and yet he’s no pushover. If I could only work out what he's after, then I could relax more. Nobody gives anything for free. I know he fancies himself in love with me, but wouldn’t he make more demands in that case? Especially since he’s holding all the cards.

He thinks he’s really sly, but some things are easy to spot. For instance, he never just comes out and tells me that he wants to fuck or makes it obvious in any other way, but I always know by the way he looks at me from under his eyelashes or how his eyes glaze over or his breathing changes. And that's even before he gets a boner. Why doesn’t he just say it? It’s not as if I’m gonna say no. I never say no to sex. And it’s fun watching him get hard just from me saying I want to fuck him.

I refuse to tell him where I go when I go out at the weekends. I’m not his kid or his boyfriend. I don’t have to tell him. He doesn’t tell me where he goes either, although he usually lets me know when he'll be back. Sometimes I just have to get out of there because I feel stifled. During the week it’s okay because I go home at night. But at the weekends I sometimes feel like he thinks this is a relationship. I don’t know about him, but I’m single, thank you very much, no matter what everyone implies. Would I fuck all these other guys, and in front of Justin, if we were in any kind of relationship?

And then Emmett starts on ‘how romantic’ going to New York together is. It makes me sick. If it wasn’t New York, I would pull out of the whole thing right here and now. But how can I pass up a trip to New York? Of course, Michael picks up on the whole ‘romance’ thing and I end up spending the three days before Thanksgiving at the loft, just so that I don’t have to listen to his jibes.

I survive Thanksgiving somehow, even though Grandpa is there and he never seems to have anything better to talk about than sports. What the fuck do I know about the game? I had to spend all of Wednesday afternoon researching stuff on my laptop, so that I can at least pretend to be interested. Just as well that I have such a phenomenal memory. On top of that, Grandma always asks about my church-going and Mom loves complaining about how remiss I am in that respect, because it’s so rare that she finds someone to listen to her misgivings. Add to all that a screaming nephew and Tom shouting at Claire to do something about that and my own private hell is complete.

When I finally climb into Justin’s jeep where he’s waiting for me in the next street, I have an unexpectedly strong desire to kiss him and even hug him, I'm so relieved to get out of there. I want to fuck him, too, but that's no great surprise since it’s been thirty-six hours. I don’t do any of it, but I do manage to persuade him to take a break after an hour’s drive and we manage a mutual blowjob in the rest area before another car pulls in.   

We hit New York after five hours of easy talking and friendly arguing over whose taste in music is more atrocious. Justin happily lets me navigate with a map and I never have problems finding places, even though I was never a boy scout. But the city is a nightmare to drive in and the car will stay in the hotel’s parking garage for the rest of the weekend.

The hotel is much smaller than the one in Chicago was, but it has a more relaxing atmosphere and the room has a sitting area, a spacious bathroom and a large bed.

“I’m sorry it’s not the Four Seasons,” Justin says after he’s tipped the porter and shut the door.

“Why?”

“I know you enjoyed the service there. But I booked this before I met you. I wanted to be in Chelsea and it’s difficult to change to a different hotel over Thanksgiving. But the food is good here, even the room service. And…”

By that time I've walked over to him and silence him with a long kiss, pressing him against the wall with my body. He's taking me on an all-expenses-paid trip to New York and he's worried that the accommodation is not up to my standards? How much of a spoilt brat does he think I am? When I move back, he looks a little dazed and is just watching me silently as if he’s waiting for something.

“What was that for?” he asks with his bright smile.

I realize that I don’t often kiss him without wanting to fuck, if ever. “Do I need a reason? The room's great. Who were you going to take?” The idea that he was planning to come here with someone else doesn’t sit right with me somehow, probably because I don’t like being second choice.

“No one, really. I just like to be comfortable.” It sounds like a lie, but I know that it isn’t. Justin has an easy way with people, but at heart he’s a loner. He likes his own company, he likes silence and he has a whole world inside of him that he occupies all by himself.

I move over to the bed and lie down on it. After the drive it’s good to stretch out. Justin pushes himself off the wall by the door and comes over to join me, leaving a couple of inches between us.

For a while we just lie there, making plans for what we want to do over the weekend. The hotel is booked until Sunday evening, so we have the rest of today, all of tomorrow and most of Sunday. I’ve already seen some of New York when I was here last year, but Justin has a few suggestions.

We're on our sides now, facing each other and just talking. I tell him about Vic, whom he already knows a little through Debbie, but I have a completely different picture of Vic. The guy got away and is living in New York! And he’s kinda hot. If he had made a pass at me last year instead of the guy he’s shacking up with, I might have said yes. Of course, Vic never would.

“So what was wrong with Vic’s boyfriend?” he asks.

“He was creepy. And old.”

“I’m old.”

“Oh, please, now you’re just fishing. He was, like, forty and not even that hot.”

He smiles a little and stretches out his hand to put it on my waist, slowly and hesitantly, as if he’s never touched me before. I ignore it and we carry on talking. After a while, his hand moves over my chest and up to my neck, stroking a little and then cupping the side of my face. It’s nice, even outside a sexual context. His thumb rubs over my cheekbone.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says.

I’m not quite sure what he’s up to because this is not how he usually treats me. I don’t think I would enjoy it normally. It’s a little distracting and I stop talking and just look at him. After a while, he scoots closer and kisses me, gently at first, then more passionately, although it’s far from a fuck-me kiss. I lie on my back to get more comfortable and pull him with me so we can continue. I wouldn’t mind taking this further but not yet. At the moment, this has its own beauty.

After what seems like a long time, he sighs and puts his head on my chest and appears to be going to sleep. I close my eyes for a moment and when I open them again, it is thirty-five minutes later and Justin is just stirring from his catnap, telling me that he wouldn’t particularly mind it if I fucked him right now.

 

Something shifted at some point between leaving home and now. I don’t know what, but something is different. Part of it has to do with being in New York. I’m excited about that. How can anybody not be excited about that? Being anywhere but Pittsburgh is great, being in New York is out of this world. Especially with Justin, who's easy-going and doesn’t try and dictate my every move like Debbie did last year.

We have dinner in the hotel restaurant where Justin manages to get us a bottle of wine because the hotel register only has my name on it but not my date of birth. Normally, I’m not used to having two hour dinners. At home I always try to finish as quickly as possible, so I can get away from my family. At Michael’s we usually have TV dinners or even eat in his room if Debbie lets us. And at the diner there's always a rush. But at the end of tonight’s dinner, I'm surprised how much time has passed because it felt more like half an hour.

“Do you wanna go out clubbing?” Justin asks.

“Sure.”

“Any preferences?”

“I think I’d prefer a gay club.”

He laughs and I'm struck by how happy he sounds. Usually, Justin is a little reserved, like he’s holding back or censoring himself. I can’t understand why, because why should he care what I think about him? But at the moment, he appears completely relaxed. It was probably the fuck we had before we came down. I like him like this, so much so that I kiss him during the elevator ride to our floor.

When we visited last year, Vic took Michael and me to two clubs, but he was so worried about what Debbie would do if anything happened to us, that he was watching us like a hawk the whole time. I barely managed to get a blowjob in one of the bathrooms.

Tonight, Justin looks more like a twink than ever before. He’s wearing a tank top that shows his midriff, his pale skin contrasting beautifully with the dark-blue color, and extra tight dark jeans. He gets carded, of course, and so do I, but there's no problem. Soon we’re in the middle of hundreds of hot guys, dancing and attracting a great amount of attention. And maybe it’s because I’m used to looking out for Michael or maybe it’s because Justin looks so goddamn young and innocent, but I feel very protective of him. He may be much older than me, but his small stature means that I'm much more likely to be able to protect myself than he is. Although, if you go by sheer spunk, he can definitely hold his own against anybody.

I fend off the advances of quite a few guys, not caring whether they're eyeing me or him. After about an hour I ask Justin if he’s ready for the backroom. I want to fuck, right now, not later on, or rather right now _and_ later on, and not being in Pittsburgh is a golden opportunity to have public sex without him being self-conscious about it. But I can feel him freeze in my arms at the suggestion.

Then he moves away a little and gives me a smile. I give him an eight for effort. “You go ahead, I’ll just have another drink.”

“Justin.” I catch his arm before he can rush off. “How can I go ahead on my own? I wasn’t planning on jerking off.”

He looks at me for a few moments, searching my eyes and then his smile re-appears – no effort involved this time. Taking his hand, I pull him into the backroom with me. Within a minute of finding a space against the wall, we have everyone’s attention. We're fresh meat, of course, but we're also the hottest couple here. Justin is his usual responsive self and I feel giddy fucking him under the envious eyes of dozens of strangers, all wishing they were us.

Some guy comes up to us afterwards and wants to know if I'm willing to share, but I just tell him to fuck off. I wrap my arm around Justin as we’re leaving and ignore the invitations being called out to one or both of us. Two hours later, we're back at the hotel to have more privacy and comfort. It's strange that neither one of those things was ever important or even desirable to me before.

Justin gives me the option of going to the exhibition on his own, but I feel that I can accommodate him a bit. Only, when I mention that I can live through two hours of looking at paintings, he pulls a face and mumbles, “More like four.” He can’t be serious! And when the wake-up call comes at half past eight the next morning, I regret my decision even more. Why the hell does he want to be at the museum at ten in the morning? It’s open all day, isn’t it?

The paintings are interesting at least, although not nearly as interesting as he seems to find them because he stands in front of each one for a long time, just looking. I'm bored after an hour and go outside to have a smoke. And then again after another hour. Justin has disappeared into that place inside of him where I can’t follow and he’s not making much of an effort to let me in.

When I come back after the third cigarette break, he's talking to some guy I noticed checking us out before. Well, what do you know, I thought he was looking at me. I sidle up to Justin and he smiles at me, without stopping his conversation about influences of other artists. Yeah, like the fucker is really interested in the paintings and not Justin’s ass! When the guy doesn’t get the message quickly enough, I take Justin’s hand, which makes him falter for a moment and then blush. Finally, Mr. I’m-interested-in-art-not-ass takes a hint and wanders off. I think it prudent to keep hold of Justin’s hand and he smiles for the rest of the visit, talking animatedly about the art. 

In the evening, we go to a restaurant near the hotel. It’s definitely hetero, but there are one or two other gay couples there. The food is very good and the company even better. There's live music, although it’s old-fashioned stuff. Pleasant, though.

“Do you wanna dance?” I ask on a whim, watching some couples taking a turn on the small dance floor.

“What, here?” He seems flustered.

“Sure.” I get up and hold out my hand for him to do the same.

He follows me reluctantly, but when we start dancing, he has that bright smile that tells me he’s happy. This isn't like dancing at Babylon, it’s ballroom dancing and within less than a minute we have the dance floor to ourselves. I didn’t know I could dance this well. I only ever had a few lessons, but Justin is very nimble and follows my lead with the barest of nudging. When the song finishes, I pull him close and kiss him, keeping it as family friendly as two guys kissing will ever be considered by breeders.

“Do you think they’re going to ask us to leave?” he asks, when we're back at our table. He’s still a little flushed, just as I like him.

“They should pay us for the show,” I say. The looks we're getting are part admiration and part disapproval, and I really don’t care. I wanted to dance with him. No one is going to stop me from doing that.

We take a stroll around the streets, just soaking up the city atmosphere and have a few drinks in a bar before going back to the hotel. On the bed in our room, I find two of his ties laid out. I grin as I turn around to look at him and he blushes but smiles softly.

“Come here,” I say, my voice sounding a little raspy.

He steps up to me and I bend down to kiss him. When we did this before, in Chicago, it started out as experimenting, doing something for the first time, something I was keen to try, but it had an unexpectedside-effect. I felt a strange connection with him, as if tying him up had as much to do with emotions as it had with sex. It freaked me out the more I thought about it on the way home. I’m not sure if he felt the same way about that night because we’ve never talked about it and I was convinced that I would never want to do this again anyway. But since we got here, I've felt a special closeness with him, even without this, and now it's like he’s giving me a part of himself freely, like after a lot of ups and downs, he's ready to open up again – and I _want_ it. 

 

The next day, we have a leisurely breakfast in bed and go shopping, but I refuse to let him buy me anything. He’s done enough for me already. How am I ever going to repay him?

We leave New York just before six, hoping to be back home before midnight. I'm planning on spending the night at the loft and going to school from there tomorrow morning. About halfway through the journey, we swap seats and I do the driving because Justin says he’s too tired to carry on. Sure enough, he falls asleep shortly afterwards. He always looks so peaceful and angelic when he’s asleep. I like watching him like that, but I need to concentrate on the road, especially as it’s dark and I can hardly claim to be an experienced driver yet.

I know what happened this weekend won’t carry on when we get back home, but I also don’t have any great desire to stomp on it at the next available opportunity like I did last time. Maybe we can just leave it as it is. There's really no need to talk about it and luckily Justin is not one who needs to discuss his feelings all the time. If he can just take it for what it is, this can be a perfect moment in time – for both of us. Everyone's supposed to have one of those, right? And maybe I can even bring myself to make one or two concessions for him from now on. 

There's not much traffic about, so when I hear a loud noise at the back and the car starts swerving uncontrollably, I know instinctively that it’s a fault with the car, not another car crashing into us. That's just about all I have time for. I try to brake and pull the car over to the side of the road at the same time, but it's veering so much from side to side, that it overshoots the small strip, hits the barrier and crashes through. Now I can’t see anything out the windscreen any longer because the airbag has deployed. We start going along the embankment, but it's too steep and the jeep tilts sharply, teetering in that position for a second, before rolling over and coming to a stop back on its wheels.

There's a profound silence, magnified by the memory of the engine noise, the screeching brakes and the horrible sound of crushing metal in my head. I’m a little dazed at first, but when I look over at Justin, I get jolted into hyperawareness. His pale face is covered in a sheet of blood.

“No. No. No. No!... God!”

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brian's POV only. For obvious reasons.

 

**PART  FIFTEEN**

_“Hello?”_

“Mikey.”

_“Brian? What time is it? You have your phone switched off all weekend and then you call me in the middle of the night? What, now I’m suddenly good enough to talk to again? I left you about a hundred messages.”_

“I think I killed him, Mikey.”

_“What? Who?”_

“Justin.”

_“What happened?”_

“We had an accident. In the car. On the turnpike. I think he’s dead.”

_“Where are you?”_

I tell him which hospital I’m in and when he says he’ll be here as soon as he can, I feel what little energy I have left drain from me completely. Shutting the phone, I just hold it loosely in my hand as I stare at the wall opposite me. It's white, I think, but all I can see is red. There was blood everywhere, all over him and all over the car. I didn’t know that the human body has that much blood in it and I know that there's only so much blood you can lose before your life drains away with it. All I could do was trying to stem the flow with my bare hands. I look down at them and they're covered in reddish-brown stains still.

_“Are you alright, son?” There's a man there, a little overweight, a little balding, with hangdog eyes, who opens my door and asks me if I can get out._

_“I’m fine. Please, help him!”_

_“We will. The ambulance's on its way. Are you sure you’re okay?”_

_“I’m fine. Fuck off.” I shake off his hand as he’s touching me. I can’t let him move me because then I'll lose my hold on Justin and then the blood will pour even more and then he will die. “HELP HIM!”_

_The guy moves round to the other side of the car and opens the passenger door after a little struggle. He has some kind of scarf, which he wraps around Justin’s head._

_“What’s your name, son?”_

_“Brian.”_

_“And this one?”_

_“Justin. His name's Justin.”_

_“Your brother? Friend?”_

_“My boyfriend.”_

_“Oh.”_

 

The guy from the accident has turned up at the hospital. I don’t pay any attention to him or anybody else. I think I am completely numb, only, I can feel something dripping from my chin. And then there's a hand on my neck, stroking gently, and I know it’s Michael without looking. I can feel it. It doesn’t mean anything and yet it does. I feel completely alone and yet I don’t. I need Michael to be here and yet I want to be left in peace.

Debbie is here as well. She comes to sit next to me and takes out a tissue to wipe my face. I pull away sharply. At least, now I know what the dripping is. I’m crying. I haven’t cried for over five years. And I really don’t care that they can see it. Nothing is important anymore.

“Honey, what happened? Where's Justin?”

_I watch the paramedics place Justin onto a stretcher. They put one of those neck collars on him and replaced the guy’s scarf with a bandage, which is already bleeding through. As I follow them up the embankment, stumbling more than walking, the old guy is helping me, no matter how much I pull away from him. I don’t want anyone to touch me. Or rather, I don’t want anyone but Justin to touch me. And he will never do that again. Don’t touch me!_

_Nobody stops me from getting in the ambulance with him. One of the paramedics pushes me into a fold-out seat and puts a seatbelt on me. I want to move closer to Justin, but my limbs are like lead and all I can do is stare at him. They're still working on him, so there's still hope. Or is there? There was so much blood! But I can’t give up. There's something I need to do, something vital. But my thoughts are going round and round in circles._

_Please, don’t let him die! Please, don’t let him die! Please, don’t fucking die!_

_I’m not quite sure who I'm entreating, but I know there's something that_ I _have to do. What the fuck is it? Then I make my way out of the quicksand in my head. Slowly and laboriously. Because I have to. Justin’s life may depend on it._

_“He’s allergic to a lot of drugs!”_

_“Do you know which ones?”_

_“Codeine… And Tylenol.”_

_“Tylenol? Are you sure?”_

_“Yes. Yes, I’m sure. He’s allergic to Tylenol.”_

 

Later, when things are less fuzzy and, unfortunately, less numb, I will remember everything with perfect clarity and I will realize how much Debbie comes through for me at that moment.

The guy from the accident comes over to us and addresses her. “I’m Carl Horvath. I work for the Pittsburgh PD. I was traveling behind Brian when the accident happened. Are you his mother?”

“I'm the one who's mainly looking after him. I’m Debbie Novotny.” Not a lie but not quite the truth either. I didn’t know Debbie could be that smart.

“How old is he?”

“Seventeen.”

“Where are his parents?”

“Unavailable.”

“Unavailable, how?”

“Unavailable, as in you will have to deal with me. He didn’t commit a crime, did he?”

“No, not at all. And I'm off duty anyway.” He looks at Michael, who's still stroking my neck. “He said that _Justin_ was his boyfriend.”

“So what?” Debbie stands up and raises herself to her full height. “You think because my son's giving him some much needed comfort, there's something going on? What if there is? You homophobic prick!”

Horvath takes a step back and lifts his hands in a disarming gesture. “Not at all, Mrs. Novotny. This Justin, what’s his surname?”

“Taylor. Justin Taylor. I’ve called his mother. She’s on her way. Actually, that’s her just there.”

She leaves Horvath and takes a few steps towards Mrs. Taylor, spreading her arms for an embrace. “Jennifer. I’m so sorry.”

Mrs. Taylor moves back a bit to avoid contact. I know exactly how she feels.

“What happened? Where's Justin?”

“Brian and Justin were in a car accident.” Debbie turns back to Horvath with an icy stare. “Where is Justin?”

“They took him into surgery. He has a head trauma and was unconscious at the scene. He lost a lot of blood.”

“What… how… Justin's such a careful driver,” Mrs. Taylor stammers. People always focus on the most irrelevant issues at times like these.

“He wasn’t the driver,” Horvath tells her and I can feel all eyes on me, even though I'm not looking.

“You crashed my son’s car?” she screeches. “It was all your fault? I knew you were trouble. I knew it the first time I saw you. He’s a different person since he’s met you. First you endanger his job and now you… what were you even doing there? I thought he was going on his own.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Horvath says in a calming voice. “One of the tires in the back burst. Brian tried to stop the car by the road, but it veered off down an embankment. I saw it. There was nothing he could have done.”

Yes, there was. I could have held on tighter, kept the car steady, somehow. I could have not been driving. I could have not gone to New York with him. I could have stopped seeing him weeks ago. I could have never fucking approached him that first night. I could be the one lying on the surgery table. I should be.

”Do you even have a license?” Mrs. Taylor asks accusingly.

“Yes, he has a license, Jennifer. Brian is a good driver.” I don’t know how Debbie worked that one out. She's never seen me drive. I've never driven any car except Justin’s jeep and even that not very often. Justin asked me to drive because he felt he was too tired. He was trusting me to keep him safe, trusting me so much that he fell asleep without a second thought.

“Let’s go and see if the nurses know anything,” Debbie suggests and guides Mrs. Taylor away.

“It wasn’t your fault, Brian,” Michael says quietly.

What the fuck does he know?

 

Four hours later, we're still sitting in the same seats. Mrs. Taylor has disappeared somewhere, no doubt sitting in a room reserved for people who actually have a right to be in Justin’s life, people who love and protect him, not endanger his life.

Horvath stayed for a while and spoke to a couple of uniformed policemen before they all left together.

Debbie gets up every half hour or so to check on Justin’s progress. Maybe she's allowed into that room as well, because she's been looking out for him, hasn’t she? Warning me away from him, telling me to let him go. Why the fuck didn't I listen?

Michael's still here, although he's half asleep now. Earlier, he asked me if I wanted to freshen up in the restroom, wash the blood off. I don’t want to. It’s all I have left of Justin and I have a feeling that it'll never really come off anyway, no matter how hard I'll try. It'll be invisible, but I'll know that it’s there – like Lady Macbeth. And it’s no use washing my face. The tears have slowed down to the occasional trickle, but they haven’t stopped completely. Maybe they never will.

This time, when Debbie comes back, she tries to take my hand, but I snatch it away. “He’s out of surgery, honey. He’s is in intensive care. His mother's with him.”

He survived the surgery. He’s alive. For now.

“We should go home, honey. Get some rest. You come with us. I’ll call your mother tomorrow morning and let her know.”

Yeah, like she cares. And even if she does, I don’t any longer. There's no way I will go back there, ever. That part of my life is over, done, finished. I’m drawing the line here. Justin taught me that, how to stop people pushing you about. How to draw a line and never let anyone cross it. Without fighting, just by sheer determination.

“You need to come with us and get some rest.”

“Fuck off, Debbie!”

She tries for a little while longer, gently at first, then more forcefully until she finally threatens to call my parents right now if I refuse to leave. When I ignore her, she tells Michael that he has to come home with her. Predictably, that sets him off, whining about how tired he is, that there's school tomorrow, that he doesn’t want to leave me and I should come with him. Eventually, they both give up and tell me they'll be back tomorrow, or rather today.

I wait.

It's difficult to tell night from day in the artificial lighting of the hospital. The fucking things never get switched off at all. There's no window I can see from where I’m sitting in the hard plastic chair and even if there was, it would be too much effort to turn my head to look. What difference does it make anyway? Time's no longer measured in days and nights, minutes and hours, it's measured in the span that Justin has left and everything that comes after that.

I wait.

Debbie comes back to tell me that she called the school to let them know that I’ve been in an accident. So it must be Monday morning. She also called my mother to tell her that I’m staying with her and Michael for a few days longer if that’s okay, but she doesn’t mention what my mother’s answer was. She brought me breakfast from the diner, but I only drink the coffee and before she leaves for her shift, she supplies me with drinks and candy from the vending machine. Later, she'll bring me chicken soup in a thermos flask, because I will drink if she puts a cup in my hand but eating requires too much energy.

Michael turns up after school every day, telling me what’s been going on and bringing me worksheets. He chatters on for a while, then peters out when I don’t respond and just sits with me. Later, he does his homework, squatting on the floor and using the plastic chair as a table. When his mother comes after her shift, he goes home with her three hours later without protest.

I wait.

Very few people bother me. This is the waiting room for the emergency department. It's open twenty-four hours a day. People come and go, sometimes the room is full and noisy, sometimes it's quiet and hushed. Once, when I come back from the toilet, a man has taken a seat in my chair and I ask him to move. He looks at the other empty chairs, then at me, still blood stained and unkempt, and decides to change seats, picking one as far away from me as possible.

This is my seat. It's somehow important that I sit right here. It's as if Justin won’t be able to find me if he wakes up, if I don’t sit in this very spot. It's immaterial that he was unconscious when they brought him in and doesn’t know where he is, never mind where I am. Or that he doesn’t care where I am and never will again, because he won’t want anything to do with me even if he does wake up. Or that he'll never wake up again. This is my seat.

I’ll wait right here.

The nurses have taken to trying to talk to me, especially during the quieter periods. I get more drinks bought for me and more candy. It's almost like Woody’s, only without the cruising. Or maybe they do want to get into my pants. What do I know about breeder women? The only time I listen is when they talk about Justin, but all they ever say is, “No change.”

I don’t know what day – or night – it is, all I know is that sometimes Michael or Debbie or both of them are here and sometimes they're not. I feel strangely insubstantial, like none of this is real and I’m not really here. Or maybe it’s a dream. Please, let this just be one fucking endless nightmare! My hearing has become selective, too. The only things that penetrate are updates on Justin’s condition. Occasionally, I close my eyes and when I open them, the scenery's changed. The guy over there has disappeared or some new people have arrived.

And then Mrs. Taylor sits down next to me. Lots of people have done that, Debbie, Michael, the nurses, even strangers when things get hectic and the room fills up, but this is the first time that I pay attention. It’s like a sixth sense.

“Justin’s woken up,” she says. “He’s out of danger and they're moving him to an ordinary ward.”

She pauses, but if she's waiting for a reaction, I can’t supply it. He’s alive. And he will stay alive. My mind stores that fact as a huge event, but my body doesn’t catch up. I know that this is what I've been waiting for and yet I can’t quite work out what that information should trigger. The waiting is over but now what? Is there something I should be doing?

“The police came round,” she carries on. “The jeep's a write-off, so they brought all the stuff in it. I'm assuming this is yours, since it’s not my son’s.” She points to my suitcase by her side, looking pristine as if nothing ever happened. “They'll want to speak to you and to Justin when he's a bit better.”

“He was asleep,” I say and my voice sounds rough from non-use. Yes, he was asleep, expecting me to take him home, to keep him safe. Trusting me.

“Was he?” She seems to wait, but when I don’t say anything else, she carries on. “I know it was an accident, Brian. The policeman told me and I want you to know that I don’t blame you. There was nothing you could have done.”

I look at her. She has Justin’s eyes, only her expression is not so open or vulnerable and there's no approval in them. She's judging me. And she has a right to. She's his mother.

“Please go home now, Brian. You’ve been here for three days. You need to go home. They won’t let you see him tonight. You might as well go. I’ll let Debbie know how he's doing, so she can tell you.”

She waits for a bit longer, then pats my leg and gets up to walk away down the corridor. To where Justin is. Where they won’t let me go.

I pick up my suitcase and leave the hospital.

 

The loft feels like it hasn’t been lived in for some time, when it's only been six days. I've been here on my own lots of times, but it never felt anything like this, so quiet, so empty and cold. In general, I'm a solitary person, I always have been. I had to be because letting people too close is dangerous. There are only ever two possible outcomes. One, you get used to someone and they let you down if you’re lucky or hurt you if you’re not. Or, two, they start to rely on you and you let them down, or worse, get them hurt.

I collapse onto the bed and when I open my eyes again, it's five in the morning. That gives me plenty of time to get ready for school. The distance is twice as far as it is from my parents’ house and in the past Justin's always given me a lift. It's clear that I have to go home at some stage to get my stuff. I have some clothes from the suitcase Mrs. Taylor gave me but only one set of clothes suitable for school. Luckily, most of my books are here. I shower for nearly an hour, watching the water turn pink and then clear.

Michael stares at me when I waltz into his house and Debbie’s main worry seems to be whether I had any breakfast or not. I just look at her and tell Michael to get a move on. When Debbie tries to hug me, I draw away and decide to have a smoke outside until Michael joins me two minutes later.

“How's Justin?” he asks, as we're walking along.

I shrug.

“Are you upset with Mom?”

“Could you just shut up for once?”

“Yeah, all right, don’t bite my head off. I’m sorry.”

School drags on, as usual. Even with missing three days, I'm well ahead in all my classes because I've been doing a lot of studying over the last few weeks. Chris Hobbs tries to push me into the lockers at break time, but I've always been able to dodge him easily. He’s way too obvious and way too slow, which is surprising for a football player. Or maybe I’m just very fast, and it helps that I've been on constant high alert for people wanting to hurt me from an early age. That never really leaves you. He ends up with his face squashed against my locker door and his arm twisted up his back to breaking point.

“If you want to give me another blowjob, all you have to do is ask,” I say, loud enough for people to stop and take notice. “Although I'd appreciate it if you took some lessons first, because, quite frankly, you’re not very good at it.”

“You’re dead, Kinney,” he grits out into the deadly silence, which then erupts into snickers and scandalized voices.

“Mr. Kinney,” Mr. Simmons says, making his way through the crowd. “Let him go.”

I do as I’m told and step back out of the danger zone quickly. Hobbs whirls around, ready to launch himself at me as I knew he would. He's never been very bright.

“Mr. Hobbs,” Old Simmons says in a booming voice. “If you don’t want to end up in detention – again – I suggest you walk away peacefully right now.”

“He started it.”

“You have five seconds to comply.”

Hobbs walks away, yanking his uniform back into place and muttering threats under his breath. The crowd is starting to disperse under Simmons’ glare and he turns back to me.

“I hear you were in an accident at the weekend. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“If you need anything, come and see me in my office.”

“Sorry, I don’t give blowjobs to teachers. Been there, done that, it’s not that great.”

I'm convinced that all the teachers know I’m gay. It’s pretty obvious from the treatment I’ve been getting from most of them. Only Mr. Simmons has been taking me under his wings over the last couple of years, helping me get extra credits, filling in applications for universities and getting me that internship that fucked up my life. He's been at the school for twenty odd years, so he can get away with helping the gay kid, but now even he thinks that what I just said is something that he doesn’t want to have to deal with. It’s the first time I ever mentioned what happened with coach to anyone but Michael. And Justin. I told Justin.

“I’ll let that slide, Brian. And the offer remains open. Now I think it’s time to get to your class.”

“Yes, sir.”

People stare at me as I make my way to history class, but I’m used to that. The trick about being gay in school lies in the attitude. Hobbs is the exception because he’s stupid, but ever since I broke Jerome Parkinson’s fingers in the locker door last year, even the jocks leave me alone. All it takes is to never back down in a verbal sparring, be prepared to dish out serious damage when it turns physical and be able to run very fast when you’re outnumbered. It also helps to be taller than most of them and to work out. These guys don’t scare me. They never did. They have nothing on Jack.

And now nothing scares me anymore.

 

I think about going home to get my stuff after school, but Thursday's not a good day for that. Tomorrow will be better because Jack will be out bowling – no way is he gonna miss that – and Mom has that church thing in the afternoon, whatever it is.

I've barely got changed at the loft when there's a knock on the door. After ignoring it for a minute or so, I realize that whoever it is, they're not going to go away, so I slide the door open and am confronted by a cop in uniform.

“Brian Kinney?”

I nod but make no move to let him in.

“I’m Officer Larson. It’s about the accident on Sunday. I understand you were the driver?”

I nod again.

“Can I see your license? Assuming you have one?”

I move over to the kitchen counter to get my wallet and he takes the opportunity to come into the loft. I block him before he takes three steps.

“I went to your house today,” he says, examining my license. “Your mother was under the impression that you're staying at a friend’s house, but the woman there, a Mrs. Novotny, said you might be here. Are you staying here?”

“I’m house sitting while Mr. Taylor's in hospital.”

“And you two are… what exactly?”

“Is that relevant to your inquiry?”

“Not necessarily, but you're only seventeen. And your mother doesn’t seem to be aware of where you're staying or even that you had an accident.”

Oh, fuck! He told her. That’s all I need. “My mother isn’t aware of much that's going on in my life.”

“I see. So she doesn’t know about your relationship with Mr. Taylor?”

“As you pointed out, I’m seventeen. Whom I fuck is none of her business. Or yours.”

He flinches a little, but recovers well. “I just don’t want to have to come back here to drag you home when your mother reports you missing.”

“She won’t. And if there’s any dragging to be done, my dad’s your man. Now, is there anything else?”

He asks me for a statement and I reluctantly let him in further to write it out. It’s either doing it now or go down to the station tomorrow. I just want it out of the way. And then I never want to think about it again.

Of course, that's proving incredibly difficult, with all the nightmares I’m having during the night. I wake up in a cold sweat, after reliving the accident over and over again, my heart pounding and showing no signs of slowing down, until I do the only thing that will calm me down.

The night nurse in reception recognizes me straight away. She tells me which ward I’m looking for and calls ahead to explain the situation to the nurse on duty there. Although exactly what excuse she gives for me not being able to visit during the day I don’t know. And then I finally – fucking finally – get to see him!

Not that it helps any. I can see him tossing and turning in his sleep. He’s still wearing a bandage around his head, but thankfully it’s no longer blood-soaked.

“What’s wrong with his arm?” I ask the nurse, pointing towards the cast he’s wearing.

“He broke his wrist.”

“Will he be able to use it okay?”

“It’s not the break that’s the problem, sweetie. His motor skills are impaired from his head injury.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It’s a bit like having a stroke. He can’t move his arm like he used to.”

“But it'll get better, right? It’s temporary?”

She smiles a crooked smile and strokes a hand over my back, before walking off to make her rounds.  

 

It takes a little bit of persuasion to get Michael to come to my house with me after school the next day. He's incredibly scared of Jack and he once told me that my mother creeps him out. Yeah, I really needed to know that. Quite frankly, I'd rather go alone anyway, but I'm not sure how many trips I'll be able to get in once my parents realize that I've taken most of my stuff. I wouldn’t put it past them to change the locks. So I want to take as much as possible on the first go.

I’m not sure where Mom goes on Friday afternoons, I only know that she doesn’t usually come home till late, which doesn’t matter since Jack gets paid on Fridays and often doesn’t come home at all. 

We bag up all of my clothes, all the school stuff, most of the CDs and some books. That’s all we can carry. Michael takes his half of the stuff downstairs while I still ponder if I should take one or two more books. It unexpectedly pains me to leave most of them behind. Then I hear Michael talk in the kitchen.

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Kinney.”

Fuck! That’s all I need. Well, at least it makes the decision for me. I grab the bags and hurry downstairs.

“Michael. What are you doing here? Where's Brian?” She makes it sound like she's suspecting him of trying to rob the place. I suppose with all the bags he’s carrying, it’s excusable.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, as I reach the kitchen.

Michael looks incredibly relieved and I point my chin towards the door for him to leave. He doesn’t lose a second. “Bye, Mrs. Kinney.”

“Goodbye, Michael.” Mom turns to look at me. “What are you doing?”

“Moving out.”

“You can’t move out. You’re seventeen. Where would you go?”

“I’m staying with a friend.”

“With Michael and that… woman? You can’t. Your father would never allow it.”

“Why not? It’s not as if I’m ever here anyway. Or as if either one of you is ever here.”

“What's that supposed to mean? I can’t believe you're begrudging me the time I spend with the Lord. It's my only comfort.”

Comfort for what? For having an abusive husband, whom she can’t leave because of said Lord? Or for having a son like me? I want to say something sarcastic, but nothing springs to mind, so we just look at each other until I start inching my way to the backdoor to follow Michael. I can’t understand why this is so difficult. I had it all planned out in my head, get my stuff and leave and if I run into either one of my parents, tell them exactly what I think of them. But somehow I can’t get the words out.

“The police came round yesterday,” she says, when I've nearly reached the door. “About some accident you’ve caused.”

I stop and turn to look at her. _Say it, Mom! Just this once, ask the question that should come naturally to any mother. Were you hurt? Are you okay? Anything. ASK ME!_

“Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have a police car parked outside the house? I can’t imagine what the neighbors will think. We never had any trouble like that with Claire.”

I turn to leave and it’s a good thing that I know my way blind because I have trouble seeing. After I pull the door shut behind me, I take a few moments to compose myself before I join Michael on the sidewalk. It wouldn’t do to let him see.

 

I get woken up on Saturday morning by persistent knocking. I try to remember where I am and what I did last night and the backroom of Babylon comes to mind. And a few tricks. And a lot of drugs. And the dimly lit hospital corridor. Whatever possessed me to go back to bed after that? Now I feel all groggy.

I throw on some sweatpants and a t-shirt and go to answer the door. I hope it’s not one of Justin’s friends because I really don’t fancy giving any explanations about what I’m doing here and where he is. And it isn’t. It’s Debbie and some woman I’ve never seen before.

“We need to talk,” Debbie says and walks right in, looking around in amazement.

The other woman is small, with short dark hair, dressed in jeans and a men’s shirt. Definitely a bull dyke. She has that wiry air about her, like a terrier. She follows Debbie in with just a nod to me and I can see from the way she doesn’t look around that she’s been here before.

“Come right in, why don’t you?” I mutter to myself and shut the door. Getting a bottle of water from the fridge, I sit down on the couch and tell Debbie that I’m fabulous when she asks how I am. The clock on the wall says one o’clock. Damn, I hope they won’t stay long. I wanted to go to the gym for a couple of hours and there’s that essay still to write in Economics. 

“Who’s your friend?”

Debbie takes a seat next to me on the couch and I resist the urge to inch away. She’s not that close. There’s no contact, but she's still in touching distance and I don’t like that.

“I’m Melanie Marcus,” the dyke says. “I’m a friend of Debbie’s and Justin’s. And a lawyer.” She sits down in one of the armchairs.

“Good for you. Why are you here?”

“Your dad came round my house last night,” Debbie says and my head whips round to her, habitually checking for bruises or worse. I can’t see any.

“It was about two in the morning and he was a little worse for wear.”

There's another pause and I still can’t say anything. I'm torn between embarrassment, anger and fear, for her and Mikey. I know that Mikey's all right for now because he was with me until three.

“He was looking for you. Tried to throw his weight around. Then went home when he realized you weren’t there.”

I stare at the bottle in my hand, picking absentmindedly at the label. I feel like I should apologize, but how do you say sorry for getting the people you care about hurt? I’ve been pondering that question for a few days now. How is an apology going to help or make anything better? Nothing's going to accomplish that.

“Did he…?”

“Nah. You know that baseball bat that I keep by the front door? It’s pretty persuasive.”

I have to smile a little at the thought of Debbie taking a swing at Jack.

“Have you seen Justin?” she asks then and her voice is soft. Too soft.

“What for?”

She sighs. “He loves you, Brian. And I know that you love him.”

How does she come up with this stuff? The only person who loves me is Michael and he doesn’t have many other choices. And as for me…

“Love?” I snort. “I just fuck him. A lot.”

Melanie gives me a disgusted look, while Debbie just sighs again.

Deciding that the best course of action is to ignore Debbie, I address Melanie. “I ask again: what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Michael told Debbie that you've moved out of your parents’ house. When your dad turned up at her house last night, she realized that he might not make it easy for you. So she called me for some advice. If you don’t want your parents to make any trouble about it, you need to petition the courts to become an emancipated minor. You’re only six months away from your eighteenth birthday, so it shouldn’t be a problem. I understand that there's been some abuse?”

Thanks a lot, Debbie, for spreading my private business all over the place. I don’t want to talk about this! I glare at Melanie, who seems unperturbed.

“I can act as your lawyer and you'll be covered by confidentiality. You just have to give me a dollar or anything at all, really, that belongs to you.”

I put my hands in my pants’ pockets and give her the only thing that's in there. She takes the condom with the tips of her fingers and looks at it in disgust. Yeah, definitely a dyke. It’s still in the wrapper, for fuck’s sake. Debbie just chuckles.

When she's put the offending object in her briefcase, Melanie starts rattling down some legal jargon about petitions and injunctions and starts filling out papers, which she gets me to sign.

“You'll have to live with Debbie,” she says. “You need to prove that you can support yourself or have someone willing to support you. Debbie has agreed to do that.”

“I’m not leaving here.” Not until Justin comes back anyway. I need the peace and quiet for now. I can’t have that if I live with Michael.

“You can’t live here officially. No judge is going to allow a seventeen-year-old kid to move in with a twenty-nine-year-old gay man. It's impossible. They would put you into care.”

“I’m staying.”

“You can do that, but your official residence will be with Debbie. Does Justin even know you’re here?”

I glare at her again. She doesn’t like me very much, that much is obvious and it’s quite mutual. But she's willing to do this for me, or rather for Debbie, so I have to play nice. Of sorts.

“He gave me his key.”

“Yeah, well, my mother has my key, too. That doesn’t mean that I wanna come home one night to find that she’s moved in.”

“Brian,” Debbie says from the other side of me and I turn to look at her. “You don’t have to stay with us. You can be here if you like, for now, but once a day I want you to come to the diner so that I know you’re still alive and you have at least one meal a day.”

I can do that.

Melanie tells me that the petition will be filed very quickly and that, while it takes time to go through, she'll be able to file a temporary injunction with immediate effect. She assures me that she'll only mention the ‘trouble’ I have at home if my parents have any objections. She's certainly very efficient.

Eventually, they're getting ready to leave and I walk them to the door so I can lock it. I really don’t fancy any more visitors.

“He asks for you,” Debbie says quietly. “All the time. You should go and see him.”

“Yeah, especially, since you’re freeloading in his loft,” Melanie tells me as a parting shot before she makes her way downstairs.

“Go and see him,” Debbie says softly, stroking my cheek.  

I jerk my head away and shut the door.

 

To make my weekend complete, Mrs. Taylor turns up on Sunday. I've just come out of the shower, fortunately with a towel around my lower body and she's already in the middle of the living area, letting out a little yelp of surprise and fear when she sees me. Then she puts her hand on her chest and breathes deeply.

“Sorry,  Brian, I didn’t expect anyone to be here.” She's a little embarrassed at first, then her expression changes. “What _are_ you doing here anyway?”

“I’m always here at the weekends, didn’t you know?”

“No, obviously not. Justin doesn’t talk about you much.”

Yeah, I figured. Why would he? I’m not exactly the type of person you rave to your mother about. A mother who thinks that fucking me makes you a pedophile. Or insane since she’s already met me twice.

I walk over to the dresser and start putting some clothes on, which causes her to turn away sharply as the towel comes off. It’s not as much fun as I imagined it would be before I did it. When I’m done, I go into the kitchen to put the coffee maker on and she moves into the bedroom area. It’s like an elaborate dance, where the steps are designed to avoid the other person. I can see her stopping for a few moments after she opens the wardrobe, just looking at my clothes hanging up in there. Then she presses her lips together and puts some of Justin’s clothes into the bag she brought.

She doesn’t come down until the coffee is done and I'm leaning on the counter in the kitchen with a steaming mug in front of me. Maybe I should offer her some, but she has this territorial air about her and would probably resent that. If she was anybody else that would be enough for me to push it, but she's his mother and there's something about her that makes me toe the line.

“Are you planning on staying here?”

“For now.”

“Justin won’t be back until January. They're going to transfer him to the rehab unit as soon as he's well enough. He has to relearn a lot of things.”

She told me at the hospital that she doesn’t blame me, but when she looks at me I can see the accusation in her eyes. I don’t blame her for that. I did put him in there and I did nearly cost him his job, not to mention that sometimes even he looks at me as if he hates me or wishes he could. Who wouldn’t? I don’t blame him either.

“You do realize that I will have to speak to him about this, don’t you?”

I just want her to leave and my discomfort tips over into belligerence, as it so often does. “Speak to him as in checking out my story or speak to him as in laying down the law?”

She bristles. “I’m sure you're aware that if I had it my way, you wouldn't be in the picture at all. It’s nothing personal. I don’t know you well enough for that. I just think that you’re not right for Justin.”

“Yeah, we can agree on that one.”

“Then why are you still here?” She really doesn’t take any prisoners.

I shrug. There's still no good answer to that question.

“The people at the hospital think you may have saved his life. You told the paramedics about his allergies and it made them call ahead and find his old records at the hospital. It could have been a lot worse if they'd given him the wrong drugs in the heat of the moment. I want to thank you for that.” It sounds like she has to really make an effort to get that last sentence out. I can imagine how much it pains her to say it and I can admire her for that. I just wish she wouldn’t talk about the accident. It’s the one thing I’m trying hard to forget.

She continues when I don’t answer. “He asks for you, you know. All the time. In fact, it was the first thing he said when he woke up. _Where's Brian?_ Even before he asked what happened. And he hasn’t stopped.” 

Yeah, I bet she loves that.

“Well, now you can give him an answer.”

She shakes her head a few times and picks up the bag. Then she looks at me again. “If you love him only half as much as he loves you, you'll disappear from his life before it’s too late.”

_Don’t worry, Mother Taylor, I intend to_.

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

**PART  SIXTEEN**

The first time I wake up, I don’t open my eyes. I can’t. There are voices, or rather just the one, but it's muffled, like it's coming through cotton wool. I cannot identify it or make out the words. All I know is how it makes me feel: calm, comforted, safe. I cannot move because my whole body is incredibly heavy and I don’t really _want_ to move either because I'm way too tired for that. I'm even too tired to open my eyes.

The second time I wake up, I know straight away where I am. White walls, white ceiling and the most hideous curtains imaginable? Yeah, I’m in a hospital alright. I've been here before, twice, once when I was five and then again when I was eleven, both times after an allergic reaction. Each time I wasn't particularly scared when I woke up because my mom was there and her voice calmed me down before I could even think of panicking. Like it does now.

But even though I'm not scared, I cannot relax, there's something I must do, something that cannot wait. My mother’s voice is no longer the one I'm listening out for first and foremost. She's not the only one I need around or even the most important one. There's someone else.

“Where's Brian?”

I can see my mother’s face crumble a little, as she strokes my cheek. “He’s not here, sweetheart. But he’s okay. He wasn’t injured.”

“Injured?” _What the hell happened?_

She tells me that Brian and I were in an accident. I can’t even remember being in the car. The last thing I remember is being in New York in the hotel, asking Brian to fuck me, which he did. Jeez, what is it with me recently that whenever I let my mind wander it turns to sex? With Brian. Even coming out of a coma, it's the first thing that pops into my head. Talk about obsession.

“How’s he?”

“Don’t worry about him, Justin. He hasn’t got a scratch on him.” Somehow she makes it sound as if that's something he should be ashamed of, as if he deliberately crashed the car in an attempt to kill me.

“… see him.”

“They won’t let him in, sweetheart. Only family's allowed in here.”

“Brother.” I'm wide awake, frantic even, and yet my body won't cooperate. Only half my sentences come out  and I can barely move any of my limbs and my right arm not at all. I look down at it. No wonder it feels heavy, I have a cast on. Fuck! That's my drawing hand!

“I can’t tell them he’s your bother. All the nurses already know that he isn’t. It won’t work.”

“Tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

“I’m okay.”

“I will. But not right now. It can wait. I want to be here when the doctor comes to examine you.”

I try again to tell her because I imagine that Brian must be beside himself out there. Although all I'm basing that assumption on is that _I_ would be, if the situation were reversed. Daphne’s words come back to me, all ironic and mocking. _Because Brian doesn’t actually have any feelings?_ I know he's out there worrying about me, I just know.

And then the doctor is there and his assistant and two nurses and I'm answering stupid questions like what year it is and who is president and what's the last thing I remember. “Hotel in New York. Friday afternoon.” Sex with Brian, his lips on mine, his hot breath on my skin, his voice. Fuck, at least my cock still works. Luckily the covers are loose and I can will it to stop twitching with some effort, just before the doctor pulls back the covers to stick some needles into my leg. Ouch.

My right arm is the only thing that's a little numb and at first I'm hoping it's because I have a broken wrist, but I cannot lift it much off the bed either. Now I'm panicking and the doctor explains about the head injury. That clarifies why my head feels like it's twice its normal size and there's a constant throbbing pain in time with my heartbeat. Nobody seems to be able to tell me whether the condition is temporary or permanent. But at least, because I'm awake now, they want to move me to a different ward. Good. This place – I'm assuming it's Intensive Care – with its machines and medical paraphernalia gives me the creeps.

After the medical staff leaves us, I try to get my thoughts in order. I'm still a bit fuzzy and slow. My right arm may or may not be permanently damaged and while the cast is on and my wrist is healing, I cannot start on exercising it. Which means it will take at least three months, probably more, to get it back to normal – if the damage isn’t permanent. Which it won’t be.  Because I won’t allow it.

The other thing I can’t really get my head around is that it's Wednesday evening. I can understand that I lost three days being unconscious, but what happened to the weekend? I'm still stuck on Friday afternoon. Brian was so…  we were kissing for ages, just making out really, like teenagers. Well, he still is a teenager, only, of the two of us, I'm more likely to behave like one when it comes to us.   

Mom's still talking about exercise and rehab and how nothing's definite yet and we’ll just have to wait and see.

“Mom.”

She stops and looks at me, smiling.

“Go, tell him I’m okay.” At least my speech works now.

Her smile falters a little and I know that she was hoping that I'd forgotten about Brian. She's always been my biggest champion. So far she's accepted, and even liked, every guy that I introduced to her, even Dan, who lectured her for an hour on how straight people can never fully comprehend what it's like to be gay, no matter how sympathetic they are. She stopped going to PFLAG meetings for three months after that, until Debbie dragged her back there.

“Can’t it wait?”

I'm not above using the pity card, turning pleading eyes on her. I will cry if I have to. “Please, Mom.”

She sighs and gets up to do as I ask. It's just my damn luck that the one guy I really love is the one guy my mother can’t stand. Maybe it's one of those cause and effect things, where the more she disapproves, the more I want him. But surely I've outgrown that kind of rebellion years ago. No, my mother’s predictable disapproval has nothing to do with how I feel about Brian.

I get moved to a different ward in the morning. One where I can have any visitor I like, whether we're related, acquainted or perfect strangers. And I do. There's a steady stream of people, Mom, Molly, Daphne, Debbie, Cynthia, Scott and his new boyfriend, Melanie and Lindsay, even Emmett, who just cries a lot and says very little.

Whom I don’t see is Brian. I last for half a day before I start asking and then I don’t stop, like a broken record. _Where's Brian? Have you seen him? How is he?_ And everybody is somewhat embarrassed, like I'm spouting obscenities or as if my questions make them uncomfortable.

After a day or so, a terrible thought strikes me. What if they're all lying to me? What if this is some well-meaning but completely misguided attempt to keep me calm while I'm recovering? What if Brian is really dead and nobody's telling me? For a few days, I keep quiet about it, trying to catch them out by asking odd questions and watching their faces. But I cannot tell. Then I ask them outright, all of them. _Is he dead? Please, just tell me if he is. I need to know._ Of course, they're all denying it, but I can no longer believe anything. Nobody's any explanation why he's not here.

I send the only person I trust on a mission to find him. When Daphne comes back the next day, she says she's seen him. At Woody’s. She doesn't really want to go into detail, but in the end she admits that she didn't speak to him because he was very drunk and very occupied with some guy there. By that time, I can no longer tell whether she's telling the truth and just finding it hard to give me such bad news, or if she's deliberately making something up that she knows will hurt me, in the hopes that it will stop me from pursuing it.

Where the fuck is Brian?

Every time the doors opens, my heartbeat speeds up and when Emmett turns up, it jumps into my throat because he's dyed his hair again and he's almost the same height as Brian. Of course, it never is him and as time passes, I realize that he's not coming. Why is he not coming? Do I really not mean anything to him beyond all the things I can provide? Is my last memory of him faulty somehow, wishful thinking? Because that afternoon, he was so gentle and… I don’t know… loving, perhaps? Maybe my brain is really scrambled up. Next thing I will imagine that we were holding hands and dancing cheek to cheek. Yeah, it must be a distorted memory. The sex makes sense, the rest does not. Must be the embellishments of a love-struck idiot.

I've sort of decided to believe Daphne. She wouldn't lie to me, she never did before. And Brian getting drunk and tricking in Woody’s sounds just about right to me. My mother tells me that she saw him at the loft at the weekend. If she was lying about it, she wouldn't sound so disapproving, I’m sure. I tell her that Brian is welcome to use the loft anytime he likes and she just sighs. She doesn't like to say anything at the moment because I'm still recovering and she's decided that no one is allowed to upset the patient, least of all her. I hope it's true what she said. I hope he's using the loft, hell, I hope he moves in. And stays. Definitely stays until I can get there.

I stop asking for him and everybody seems relieved. So am I, because I'm tired of the pity in their eyes whenever Brian is mentioned. Unfortunately, it means that none of my visitors holds much interest for me anymore. None of them is who I really want to see and if they're not talking about Brian, their talk soon becomes monotonous. There's only so much you can say about the weather. I become withdrawn and then downright rude, until the stream of visitors becomes a trickle. Suits me.

Daphne is the only one, apart from Mom, who's not fazed by my behavior. She brings a book and is just there, ready to talk if I want to, silent if I don’t. And she's the only one willing to discuss Brian. Only I don’t want to any longer. I just want to wallow in my own misery.

But every now and then I have doubts. There, at the back of my mind, is that little voice that's telling me that I'm missing something. That there's something else I should be aware of. Something I should remember. But my mind is often a little fuzzy still and it's difficult to grasp fleeting thoughts and that fear never really goes away. The fear that he's really dead. It doesn’t help that, sometimes at night, I think I can hear his voice and once I fancy I see him by the window to the corridor, but by the time my brain is fully awake, there's no one there. It reinforces my paranoia. Maybe he's haunting me, or taunting me rather, because otherwise he would just appear and spook me out, not be so elusive. And wouldn’t that be just like Brian, to be annoying even as a ghost?

I have to get out of here. The first time I try to get up, I nearly fall flat on my ass because my right leg gives way under me unexpectedly. I just manage to fall back onto the bed instead of hitting the floor. To say that I'm freaked out is an understatement. The doctor says it's normal and just needs training, the same as my arm, but he won’t get drawn on whether this is a temporary glitch or my life from now on.

The next day, I see my physiotherapist for the first time. His name is Filippo and he reminds of my first boyfriend with his dark curls, only he's a little taller and has a body to die for. Nice smile, too, and his eyes tell me that he likes what he sees when he looks at me. I’m not particularly interested at the moment, even when he puts his hands on me to start the leg exercises. After he's gone, I continue with them until my whole body shakes from exhaustion, but at least I manage to stand up without falling over for thirty seconds at the end of the day.

Filippo comes every day. He's a nice guy and our talk flows easily while I exercise. He encourages me when I’m down. He cajoles when I’m tired. He tells me off when I overdo it. A lot of times we just laugh. He tells me about his life and his family. In his free time, he sculpts, which has me intrigued. He's bending my leg up, folding it into my chest, while he tells me that and adds, “I’m really good with my hands,” in a seductive voice. Yeah, he definitely likes me, but even if I hadn’t had some scary experiences with inappropriate relationships recently, I still wouldn't be interested. Because I'm just working this hard, so that I can go out there and find Brian.

A week before Christmas, I get transferred from the ward to the rehab unit attached to the hospital. Mom wants me to go somewhere else, but I tell her that I want to stay here, so I can keep working with Filippo. Of course, that's only half the truth.  What I don’t say and don’t quite admit even to myself is that I’m worried that Brian may not be able to find me somewhere else, if he does decide to visit. Pathetic, I know.

I can now walk unaided, but my confidence is gone. I had some very painful falls in the beginning and despite my leg only giving out on me about a dozen times all in all, I haven’t really lost the fear of falling over. I'm all right in my room or even in the corridor, but the idea of going out there, into the street, brings me out in a cold sweat. It's not hurting myself that worries me, it's the embarrassment of landing on the floor where other people can witness it. And the thought of Brian seeing me like that makes me cringe. He would never look at me again.

I want to go home for Christmas. Mom is all for it until she realizes that home, to me, means the loft, whereas she was thinking of her condo. In the end, she gets her way. The doctors will only release me into her care for the two days, not into my own. But what is more is that I cannot go anywhere on my own. My leg may work just fine now, but my head still tells me that it might not. It may be just psychological, but even knowing that doesn’t mean that I can overcome it. I'm basically stuck in whichever place I end up in. In this case, my mom’s condo.

When I get back to the rehab unit, I promise myself that I won't leave until I'm fully recovered and able to go back to the loft. I refuse to go to my mom’s at New Year’s and instead spend the night with Filippo, who has taken to visiting me outside his working hours. The unit is almost deserted on New Year’s Eve because anybody who's even remotely well enough has gone home. We watch the fireworks from the common room window, which has a great view of the city skyline, and Filippo kisses me when I'm a little unprepared, although I should have expected it. I draw away when he tries to deepen the kiss.

“You still waiting for Brian to turn up?” he asks.

“No. I’m waiting to get out of here, so I can hunt him down and bust his balls.”

He smiles ruefully. “He’s a lucky guy.”

Not many relationships would come back from something like that, but somehow we manage. When  my cast comes off in the first week of January, he's the one consoling me over my disappointment of how little I can do with my hand. Everything is such a huge effort, from doing up a button to feeding myself.  Writing and drawing is completely out of the question. I'm ambidextrous except for drawing, so I'm really lucky that I can function just as well with my left hand. But my life will never be the same without my art, and while I wouldn't go as far as saying that it won’t be worth living, it will definitely be a dreary place without it.

Mom has withdrawn somewhat. She still comes by every day, but she doesn’t stay as long. Maybe she can sense that I'm a little angry with her. It's irrational and unfair of me, but I cannot help blaming her for Brian’s absence, as if her approval of it made it happen. She thinks that being away from Brian for seven weeks is good for me. If she's hoping that I'll forget him or miss him less, she is very much mistaken. He's there every night, in my dreams, holding me, kissing me. Sometimes we just hold hands and sometimes we fuck and I wake up sweaty and sticky. And sometimes he is dead.

I remember bits and pieces of the weekend in New York now, but nothing seems quite right. There's the exhibition at the MoMA that I can remember in great detail, the paintings at least, and I'm sure I wouldn't remember them like this if it was just my imagination. So that must be true, but I can also remember holding hands with Brian there and that cannot be right.  Brian would never allow something like that.

I remember a club and having sex in the backroom, with Brian. That cannot be right either because why would he have fucked me when there were all those hot guys around us? The most ludicrous vision is the one of Brian and me dancing at a restaurant.  I doubt that we could even manage it – how would Brian even know how to do ballroom dancing and I'm sure I would be incredibly rusty by now – and Brian just wouldn’t, even if he could. That leads seamlessly into being tied up in bed and the most incredible sex of my life. But that's probably an image that my scrambled brain is supplying from the memory of Chicago, only this is even more intense. Everything is all mixed up and, of course, I cannot ask Brian for confirmation because he's not here. I probably wouldn’t anyway. What truth could ever be better than my imagination? I’d like to hang on to some of my dreams.  

When it's time to be released, Filippo offers to take me home, but when Daphne turns up half an hour later, she vetoes it, saying that she'll do it, in a voice that doesn't really allow for any objections from either of us. Daphne thinks that feeling guilty is the reason for Brian being a no-show. I cannot understand why he would be. It's not his fault that the tire burst. There was nothing he could have done. We could both be dead if it wasn’t for him and he cannot really be silly enough to think that I'm upset about the car. I can afford to buy new one and I will, just as soon as I can trust my hand enough for driving. Of course, I need to be able to go anywhere on my own for that first.

Daphne turns up at lunchtime the next day, but the doctor has been delayed and it's not until three o’clock that we're actually ready to leave. A lot of the nurses are there to say goodbye and Filippo has turned up as well, slipping me a card with his phone number. I can walk normally now and I can even carry my own bag because I'm not an invalid, but I'm still glad that Daphne walks on my right side so I can lean on her if my leg gives way. Logically, I know that it won’t, but the fear is still there. It's a struggle to overcome it when we leave the hospital building and Daphne has to bring the car right up to the entrance.

When we're sitting in the car, she looks at me questioningly. I want to tell her to go to Brian’s house, but I know that I can’t. Even without his parents there, I couldn’t. If he doesn’t want to see me, he doesn’t want to see me. I'm not allowed to contact him. I never was. Everything has to be on his terms. Eventually, I'll break down and go looking for him, I know that, but not today. Today I will be sensible and go home. 

Quite frankly, I'm not sure if I'm ready for him. I'm a mess. I cannot go anywhere on my own and my hand, although a lot better now, still seizes up sometimes, turning into an ugly claw that doesn’t do what I want it to do, no matter how hard I try. I don't want him to see me like that.

As I cannot remember the accident, I don’t have any issues with driving or being driven. Outside the loft, I get out of the car without waiting for Daphne and she smiles at me when she gives me my bag. It's a small improvement, very small, since moving away from the car to the entrance of the building is impossible without her there. We decide to take the stairs. She hates the elevator and it's good exercise for me.

“Home, sweet home,” she says when I unlock my door.

No kidding. I've been looking forward to this moment for weeks. I try to ignore the fact that I have to slide the door open with my left hand. 

As I walk into the loft, I can _feel_ Brian. For a moment, I think that I've gone completely insane. He cannot be here. Why would he be? He doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. It must be just the lingering smell of cigarettes that makes me feel like he's here.

I think that right up to the moment when I get far enough inside the loft to look into the kitchen, I don’t believe that he's alive. Not really. Because it's a little too painful to think that he just doesn’t want to see me. So at the back of my mind, I've never let go of my doubts. If he's dead, then at least he hasn’t totally rejected me. I don't want to believe that he would do that. It's a sick logic, but there it is.

When I see him standing in the kitchen, frozen in mid-motion of taking a bottle out of the fridge, all I can do is stare.

“Hey.”

 

*******

 

Sometimes your life falls apart in a split second and sometimes it falls apart slowly, but in true Brian Kinney fashion, mine does both.

I suppose it’s normal to experience shock when you're involved in a car accident. I don’t remember being particularly shocked, but I must have been. It all happened so fast. From the moment the car started swerving to the moment it landed back upright after turning over, it could have been no more than thirty seconds, forty tops, and I remember every fucking one of them with perfect clarity. Because I relive them every night.

I remember how the steering wheel felt, straining against my muscles; how I tried desperately to counteract each swerve only to feel the car going the other way the next moment; I remember the jolt as we crashed through the barrier and how the airbag felt like it was suffocating me, while hampering all my attempts at steering. I remember how it seemed for just a second or two that we would be all right, that the car would just roll down the embankment and surely would come to a stop on the grass – before it veered one last time to run parallel to the road and tipped over sideways.

But that isn't the worst of it. When I think about it, I don’t remember taking my eyes off the front of the car for even a split second, but I must have done, because what brings me out of my sleep in a cold sweat night after night is the expression on Justin’s face, as he went from sleeping with his head on a rolled up sweater to staring at me in confusion and fear – looking for me to fix it.

That's the first nightmare. If I go back to sleep after that, the others follow, every fucking time. But unlike the first one, they divert from what really happened. There's blood – invariably – that I try to stop, but it just pours out over my hands. Or I try to reach him and something is holding me back – the seatbelt, a hand, the fucking air itself – so he bleeds to death in front of my eyes, my hands inches away from him. Or instead of his head, he bleeds from dozens of wounds and I don’t have enough hands to stop it. Or variations on the theme. Is it any wonder that I try my hardest not to go back to sleep after the first nightmare wakes me up?

When we were in New York, I felt for just a day or two that maybe I could do this. It wasn’t so bad going to the museum with him because it made him happy. It was fun to hold hands with him there and piss off all the breeders. When I asked him to dance at the restaurant, I did it because I wanted to. I actually wanted to hold him in my arms and dance with him. For him, yes, but also for myself. And then there were the nights.

When the accident happened, I remember thinking, _Oh God, please, don’t let anything happen to him!_ Of course, with the way things are between God and me, He didn’t give a flying fuck about what I wanted.

I can forgive myself for reverting back to praying in the heat of the moment – most people do. I can forgive myself for panicking right after the accident, screaming at the cop to help him. I can even forgive myself for crying like a baby at the hospital. Because when it all happened, I wasn’t concerned about myself, I was only concerned about him.

What I can’t forgive myself for is what happened since. The accident made me realize that I was stupid. People like me don’t hold hands, dance, kiss for hours, get to be happy. That's for people like Justin, people who are undamaged and beautiful. People like me fuck random guys because that's all they’re good at and good for. People like Justin may just make it to happiness. I know that some people do. Although ninety-nine percent don’t, maybe he’s the one who will find that person who will make him happy for the rest of his life. Because he deserves it. But he can’t have that if he stays with me and lets me keep on contaminating his life.

And yet, I live in his apartment and every night I sneak into the hospital to see him because I’m too fucking weak to walk away. I live on three hours sleep a night – four, if I’m lucky – because of the nightmares and when I wake up, I just have to get dressed and see him, to make sure he’s all right. I need to know that he's alive and getting better.

It took me half an hour to persuade the night nurse at the rehab unit to let me in after he was transferred there. I know I should stay away from him and I know I should no longer be in the loft, but for once I can’t seem to get a grip. And that's what I can’t forgive myself for. I'm so fucking feeble. I'm so pathetic that I'm utterly disgusted with myself. Just move on, Kinney!

Because I know that Justin has. I saw it on New Year’s Eve. It was stupid of me to go that night because the chances were high that he would still be awake and might see me. But he was too busy with that guy in the common room – kissing. Good for him. He's free to do what he wants and if this guy makes him happy, so much the better. I was never planning on sticking around anyway. As soon as they tell me that he’s coming home, I’ll be gone.

So, yeah, the accident changed my life from one moment to the next, but it only really started to unravel afterwards, because I'm completely spineless and powerless to stop what I'm doing. I'm hoping that if I drink enough and take enough drugs and fuck enough, I will win this battle eventually. I always did before. Brian Kinney lets no one and nothing beat him. I can do this.

There are two things that keep me functional or even just alive: once a week I pass out from sheer exhaustion and sleep eight, nine hours in one go, usually at the weekends, with no nightmares until the very end. And once a day I go to the diner and eat whatever Debbie decides to put in front of me. It’s part of our deal. For a while, she tried to talk to me when I was there, but she has long since given up on that. Now she just sometimes strokes over my hair as she walks past. I’m not sure if that’s part of the deal, too, so I let her.

I haven’t heard a single word from my parents. I had to see the school councilor when they were informed that Debbie is now my guardian, but when I refused to explain, she never asked me to come back. If I'd known that it would be this easy, I would have divorced my parents years ago, but I suppose when I was younger, it would _not_ have been this easy and maybe I should give Melanie, the bull dyke lawyer, some credit, too. Debbie told me that Melanie spoke to my father and told him how much hell she would be raising if he made any trouble about my moving out or came anywhere near me. Apparently, he swore at her and put the phone down.

In the evenings, I still go out with Mikey, Ted and Emmett and it's as if Justin never existed. Quite literally because they all learned pretty fucking quickly to never mention his name. Once, at the very beginning, I thought I saw Justin’s fag hag in Woody’s one night, but I was so very drunk that it could have been my imagination.

I assume that eventually the money I have left from my internship will run out. I eat only the one meal a day at the diner – which is no great hardship since I haven't much of an appetite anyway – and get all my drinks paid for when I go out, but drugs I won’t take unless I buy them myself and then there are the cigarettes, lube and condoms. On the other hand, when I saw Mrs. Taylor that one time, she said that Justin would be coming home in January. So it won’t be much longer. I’m relying on Debbie to let me know. I don’t want to ask her because she always looks at me so accusingly when the conversation turns to Justin. Or maybe it's pity. Even worse.

So I come home one Friday after school and after I get changed, I go into the kitchen to get a bottle of water, which is the only thing left in the fridge, when I hear the door roll back. I’m sure I locked it behind me and I’m hoping that it’s not Mrs. Taylor. I’m too tired today to go another round with her.

I hear a woman’s voice say something about ‘home’ and then I hear footsteps and definitely not of the clacking kind like Mrs. Taylor has. All I have time for is to think ‘oh shit’ and ‘I’ll kill Debbie’ and then he's there, staring at me as if he’s seeing a ghost. He’s a little thinner, which you only notice close up, and the blond hair shimmers and his blue eyes look bigger than usual and it feels like he’s real all of a sudden. At night, when I see him through the glass, he never seems quite real.

“Hey,” is all I can force out.

I’m not quite sure what I'm expecting. Maybe anger that I’m still here or blame for the accident. What he does is take a run at me and he practically jumps into my arms. I drop the water bottle in an effort to catch him and stagger back a step until I hit the counter. His arms are vise-like around my neck and his feet are off the ground.

And I'm assailed by a multitude of feelings. There’s relief that he’s okay and here and alive. That will probably never fade because it hasn’t in seven weeks. There's anger at myself. What the fuck am I still doing here? I decided that I would have to leave, since when do I not do what needs to be done? And then there's another feeling that I can’t quite place that makes my heart beat too fast and my hands sweaty.

“Oh my God, I thought you were dead.”

Huh?

I lower him back to the floor because, even if he has lost weight, he’s still heavy, but his arms don’t release me. I hear the door being pulled shut and expect someone to appear at the entrance to the kitchen, but when nothing happens, I assume that the other person just left quietly. Definitely not Mrs. Taylor then.

“Why would you think I’m dead?”

He releases me and wipes his eyes furtively. _Oh God, no tears, please._

“You never came and everybody was so weird about it that I thought you died in the accident and they were keeping it from me.” He gives a small embarrassed laugh.

I stare at him. He thought I was dead this whole time? And all I had to do was go and see him while he was awake? Well, there’s another tally on my guilt list.

“I knew it wasn’t true, but I had too much time on my hands. I was just stupid.” He looks at me sheepishly and gently puts one hand up to cup my cheek. “Why didn’t you come and see me?”

“What for?”

His withdrawal is immediate. He pulls back his hand, lowers his eyes and the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly in that barely-there, self-deprecating smile. And I know that he's in his own world again, that place where I cannot follow, where I don’t exist.

“Why indeed,” he says. “I was in a coma for three days and rehab for more than six weeks. Why would you be interested in how I’m doing?”

“I’m sure someone would have told me if something happened to you. And there was nothing I could have done for you.”

“It would have made me happy,” he says, but not to me. He’s talking to himself again and I have the same feeling I always have when he shuts me out. A staggering want. I always want him more when he seems unavailable. And it makes me angry, with myself for being weak and with him for being able to make me feel this way. I try to concentrate on the anger. 

“Well, happiness doesn’t last.” Mine didn’t. “And you had enough people making you happy, didn’t you?” I’m not thinking about that kiss on New Year. I’m _not_.

“None of them were you. None of them…” He stops and steps forward again, putting one hand on my stomach, the heat from it burning through my shirt to my skin. “It wasn’t your fault, Brian. There was nothing you could have done.”

“Yeah, I know.”

His smile goes soft. “You wanna say that again, only this time as if you actually believe it?”

I shrug. “The tire burst.” And with it the bubble I had dared to live in while we were in New York. “I’ll get out of your way.” I try to move around him to go and pack my bag – I'll never forgive Debbie for letting me stumble blindly into this situation – but he steps in front of me.

“I like you being in my way.”

_Want_. That’s what is. Pure and simple. I bend down and kiss him because it’s the only thing I can do. It’s the first time that I’ve kissed anyone since the last time I kissed him. It’s also the first time that someone touching me doesn’t make me cringe inwardly. My tricking has increased at the same rate that my sleeping has decreased, but I keep all contact to a minimum. My dick, their asses or mouths and very little else. It’s amazing how many guys are okay with that.

I can feel his hand under my shirt, just the one, the other is resting somewhat loosely on my shoulder. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on the feel of his fingers ghosting over my stomach, my side and my back. He unerringly finds that spot under my shoulder blade that drives me wild when he touches me there. I just wish it were his lips.

I’m still kissing him and I’m wondering if he’s well enough to fuck. Because I really want to, not just in the usual way that I always want to fuck in general and him in particular. It’s more than that. I want to fuck _him_ , no one else, and not just because he happens to be around. It’s because I haven’t had him for so long. Okay, so maybe it’s about the possibility that I may have missed this. Not consciously, but now that he's here, I'm aware that it wasn’t much fun here on my own. That’s probably just it. Maybe I overdid the solitude a little.

I try to walk him backwards while still kissing him, but his hand flies out to the counter, holding on tight, stopping him from moving and he pulls away from me sharply. Okaaay, looks like I got my wires crossed there. I thought this was what he wanted. The kiss was certainly hot enough to imply it.

I look at him, rolling in my lips to hide my disappointment. And my fear. Is he not well enough for that yet? Is he not one hundred percent fixed? Will he ever be? Or maybe he just doesn’t want to fuck me anymore. Who would, after what I did to him?

If anything, he looks embarrassed. “You’ll make me fall,” he says and I have no clue what he's talking about. It’s not as if we haven’t done this before, plenty of times. We never had an accident. I always keep my eyes open to see where I’m steering him.

Fine, there are other ways. I step forward and lift him up, which makes him yelp a little and then laugh. He squeezes his arms around my neck again, as I carry him to the bed and I'm tempted to drop him unceremoniously onto it because there's something about this that makes me uneasy. But I have to work out first if he’s fully recovered, so I lower him gently and follow him onto the bed, kissing him again.

It takes me a few minutes until I notice it, for which I can maybe be forgiven this once because my mind is on other things, namely his body, which I haven’t touched in way too long. But when I do, I stop. “Why aren’t you using your hand?”

He looks at me with that proverbial deer-caught-in-the-headlights look. Then he turns away and moves to sit on the side of the bed, turning his back to me. My hard-on is deflating rapidly, following Justin’s example, and I move over to sit next to him. He's keeping his face averted.

“Look at me?”

He does, reluctantly, looking very upset.

“Tell me.”

“My hand doesn’t work properly, not all the time. Sometimes it just sort of seizes up and I drop things.”

Fuck! I was hoping he was better. This is what he went to the rehab unit for, isn’t it? Is he telling me that it's a permanent condition? That I fucked him up for life? I have no response to that.

He looks away again and, for once in my life, I put aside my self-obsession and think of him, trying to imagine what he's feeling. I put my hand on his shoulder and when he doesn’t pull away, I scoot closer and kiss him there.

“Justin,” I whisper.

He shivers a little.

“As long as you use your other hand when you’re jerking me, we’re good, aren’t we?”

He looks at me and he smiles broadly and suddenly I realize why Debbie calls him Sunshine. I never thought about that before. “I really missed you, Brian.”

I just kiss him again.

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

 

**PART  SEVENTEEN**

Brian comes through for you when you least expect it.

When he tries to walk me backwards, I panic. In my mind’s eye, I can see my leg giving way and falling. I can’t let him see me like that. He won't want someone who's an invalid, who is damaged. But I can see straight away that he takes it as a rejection and I can’t let him think that! So I tell him about my fear and he just picks me up. Thank God, he doesn’t ask for an explanation just yet.

But when we're on the bed, I start worrying about my hand. What if it seizes up as I’m touching him? Even if he doesn’t see it, he'll feel it on his skin. The very idea makes me feel deficient and ugly. How can I even hope to hold his interest when I’m no longer functioning perfectly? It was hard enough when I was undamaged.

I don’t want to tell him, but I know I have to. Eventually, my hand will play up when he's around. I can’t hide it from him forever. I hold my breath for his reaction, expecting him to say something flippant or even hurtful. And then he'll leave and I will never see him again and he'll make excuses not to see me, if he'll even bother to be that kind.

“As long as you use your other hand when you’re jerking me, we’re good, aren’t we?”

I can’t believe he doesn’t care. Or maybe he does and just hides it well. Like Mom does. Let’s not upset poor little crippled Justin. I smile at him, grateful that he's being nice for whatever reason. In most relationships what he said couldn't possibly be taken as a being caring or even nice, but with Brian it's almost like a declaration of love.

“I really missed you, Brian.” I know it’s not the smartest thing to say because he hates it when I say things like that, but I can't help it. Right now, it’s either that or a heartfelt ‘I love you’ and that would be even worse.

He kisses me, gently at first, then more forcefully as he pulls me back onto the bed. Brian and I rarely have gentle sex. Usually, passion takes over pretty quickly and things become urgent. Even when he sets out to delay my gratification for as long as possible, there's nothing gentle about it. But this time, he takes it slow and his touch is soft. He's mapping my body with his hands and lips as if he's doing an inspection. Eventually, he takes my right hand and puts it on his waist, encouraging me to use it to caress him and he's either trying to tell me that he doesn’t believe it will seize up or that he doesn’t care if it does.  Either possibility makes me want to smother him in kisses and tell him that I love him over and over again.

After seven weeks without sex, it's inevitable that I come long before he's ready to push into me. He laughs a little and says, “I thought it was teenagers who come quickly. Aren’t you a bit old for that?”

“You may have noticed that I’m still hard, so it’s really just proof of my stamina.”

“Okay, let’s see how much stamina you have.”

For the first time I win. In the past, I sometimes had to ask him to let me get some sleep because Brian is relentless when he's having sex. A couple of times, I simply passed out. But this time, he just falls asleep after he’s fucked me, barely taking the time to roll off me a little. I try to get more comfortable in his arms because I want to enjoy this. He's holding me after all this time! It’s what I've been dreaming of in the hospital. But whenever I make the slightest move, his arms tighten around me in his sleep. This is new. He was never clingy before. Maybe he missed me a little, too. It’s possible, right?

It's only six in the evening and I'm not the least bit tired. There was nothing to do between treatments at the rehab unit, so I’m well rested. But I don’t mind. What more could I want than being here with Brian? Being this close. Feeling wanted. By eight o’clock I'm hungry, but even though he’s moved a little a couple of times, he's still wrapped around me so tightly that I would surely wake him if I tried to get up. I don’t want to do that. From close up I can see very faint circles under his eyes and I already noticed that he's a little thinner.

I fall asleep around ten and wake up ten hours later to Brian’s hands all over my body. Yeah, even if he didn't miss me as such, he certainly missed the sex. Afterwards, I feel boneless and pleasantly lazy. I'm wondering why he slept for fourteen hours. That isn't really like him. And my mind wanders to other things, like, why is he here? Has he been here the whole time? Did he have sex with other guys in my bed?

Brian is the first guy who can make me seethe with jealousy. I've been jealous before, but only when my boyfriends cheated on me and even then, it was more anger than hurt. Thinking of Brian with other guys hurts and yet I've watched him having sex with some guy in the backroom and found it hot. Go figure.

I think I'm probably most jealous of Michael, shameful as it is to admit it. But he loves Michael. First and foremost. Or maybe Michael is the only person he loves. I've realized by now how Michael puts up with his behavior. He thinks that Brian is just sowing his wild oats for a bit and then he'll settle down with him. That when Brian flirts with him, like he did in Woody’s that time, it means that Brian's getting impatient to be with him and just isn't quite ready yet. That he's special and always will be. And he's right. Brian even says it to him. ‘Always have and always will’. He never tells me that he loves me.

“Tell me,” Brian says, blowing smoke into the air and looking at the ceiling. I still can’t believe I'm allowing someone to smoke in my loft, never mind my bed and find it sexy. I've never even dated a smoker before.

“Tell you what?”

“What… residual effects do you have?”

I know I'll have to tell him eventually. Might as well be now. So I do. About my hand that seizes up when I use it too much and about my leg that no longer gives way but makes me fear that it will. And suddenly I remember that I was running. When I saw him standing there in my kitchen, I ran to him without any thought. I've not run since the accident, wouldn't even consider trying.

“We have to go shopping,” is all he says in response.

I frown. Maybe we do, but this is his reaction? Really? I'm squirming with embarrassment as I tell him that I'm so scared of falling over that I can’t go out and he's worried about food?

“Didn’t you listen? I have panic attacks just stepping onto the street.”

“Exactly.” He stubs out his cigarette, jumps out of bed and pulls me with him. “First we shower. And you can blow me. Or I’ll blow you, since it’s your first day home. And then we go to the 24/7 down the road. Practice. You’ll be fine. And if you’re good, I let you rim me when we get back.”

I have to laugh despite myself. “How's _me_ rimming _you_ a reward for _me_?”

He pulls me under the spray of the shower and wraps his arms around me. His voice is low and husky, seductive. “Okay. If you're _very_ good, I’ll rim you till you come. How's that for a reward?”

I’d say it'll do just fine.

After the shower, I lose my courage a little, but there's no food in the house – what the hell did he live on while I wasn’t here? – so shopping is a must and I'm starving by now. In the hospital, I tried to get used to walking outside, usually with Filippo or Daphne. They would wheel me to a quite spot and I would walk beside them, always in the hospital grounds. Both of them gave me a lot of time and encouragement. And yet when the time came, I still barely managed to get from the main hospital entrance to the car.

Brian’s technique is completely different. When we get to the bottom of the stairs and I hesitate, he takes my right hand and unceremoniously pulls me out onto the sidewalk. There are only a few people and cars about, but that already seems like a bustle to me. Daphne and Filippo always focused on me completely when we went walking and we never actually went out into the street. 

Brian doesn’t even look at me, in fact, he seems to be checking out all the guys in the vicinity. I can’t shift a weird feeling of déjà vu as I’m hanging on to his hand for dear life. This is the first time that we're holding hands. I want to enjoy it and savor it, but I can’t. I can feel myself breaking out into a cold sweat and my throat clams up. The only thing I can hear is my elevated heartbeat and the blood rushing in my ears. But by that time we're already halfway down the street. I never got this far before.

My left hand grabs his arm by the elbow for extra reassurance, but all I can think is that Brian is here and he won’t let anything happen to me. He's tall and strong and I won’t fall because he won’t let me. Never mind that Filippo could have caught me, too, when we were practicing. This is different. This is Brian. And not only do I trust him in this, I also don’t want to show my weakness in front of him. Freaking out in the street would be worse than falling over and I concentrate on that.

The supermarket is busy, but I can push the cart and that gives me confidence. Even if people were to run into me, I’d have something to hold on to. At some stage, Brian asks me to get ice cream while he goes to get some cucumbers and I can barely refrain from begging him not to leave me alone here. It seems to take a long time before he comes back. I hold onto the cart and look up and down the aisle for his return, thinking that if he's found someone to take to the restroom, then this could take a long time.

My panic has subsided a little, which leaves me slightly elated. It must be the cart that reassures me. Maybe I should get a walking stick. But then I think of Brian’s reaction to that suggestion and just shake my head. Brian wouldn’t want to be seen dead with a guy who uses a walking stick.

On the way back, Brian carries one bag and I carry the other while he’s holding my hand. It’s a little awkward, but we manage. The panic hasn’t returned yet, even with only Brian’s hand for support. Maybe it’s because holding Brian’s hand means more to me than helping me fight my fear. It means care and comfort and love, at least on my side. And after we put the shopping away, I get to collect my reward.

Brian and I never spent much time outdoors before, but we do now. We walk to the park, to the gym, to the diner. Of course, we don’t have a car at the moment, but really it's just practice. He never lets go of my hand for a week or so until I've got used to going out with him and then he starts letting go. I find that I don’t have to hold his hand as long as he's close enough so that I could if I needed to. Which is a bit of a shame because I loved holding hands with him. He never held my hand before, except in my imagination, and he probably never will again. It was an aid, not a show of affection.

The first time we go to the diner, on my first full day home, Debbie's there and tells him it's about time that he showed up. That she was just about ready to hunt him down. He says something about the deal being off, now that I'm home, and he somehow manages to always stay between Debbie and me until we sit in one of the booths where he's wedging me in against the wall. I'm kind of glad about that because I'm not real big on hugs at the moment.

Then he explains that he's left home and has become an emancipated minor – with Melanie’s help, no less. I'm a little stunned. Of course, I noticed all his clothes in my cupboard and gathered that he has more or less moved in, but I didn't realize it was all official and legal.

“I’ll move my stuff to Michael’s tomorrow,” he says, digging into his food.

“Why?”

“I was just staying at your place until you're out of the hospital.”

“Why?”

“What are you? Five? What’s with all the why questions?”

“What’s changed that you have to move out?” Like I don’t know. He was using my place as a shelter and now that I'm there, it has lost much of its appeal. Who would want to be looking after an invalid all the time anyway?

“Apparently, I’m not allowed to live with you because you’re an old horny queer and will warp my impressionable teenage mind. So, officially, I have to live with Debbie.”

“So live with Debbie. Officially. Nothing’s changed. I want you to stay.” There, I said it! The one thing I learned from the accident is that life's short and unpredictable and I don't want to live it in fear any longer. I don't want to hold back anymore. Not with my life and not with Brian either.

He looks at me for a while, his fingertips against his lips, eyes squinted half-closed, then he just nods and carries on eating. I start on my own food, trying not to grin inanely. Apparently, that's that. We are now living together. 

 

The next weekend, we go and buy a new jeep. I'm still a little concerned about my hand, but not as concerned as I am about Brian getting behind the wheel again. He plays it off, pretending that it doesn't bother him, but then he also tries to persuade me to drive us home from the dealer, getting a little annoyed when I insist that I'm not ready yet. I play heavily on my fears and in the end he relents. He shrugs as if he didn't just fight tooth and nail against it, but when he's driving us home, I can see how tense he is. His knuckles are white from grabbing the steering wheel so tightly and he's covered in a sheen of cold sweat by the time we get to the loft. Therapy works both ways, he makes me go out every day, I make him drive. Turnabout is fair play.

I have an appointment with Gardner Vance at the end of the second week. It's the Friday before I'm due to start work again. I'm still not quite ready to go out by myself and, as Brian is at school, Daphne drives me there. Indoors, I can move about freely enough, as long as I stay near the walls. I arrive with an hour to spare and tell Daphne I'll call her when I’m done. 

Things aren't going well in the Art Department. None of my team likes working for Vangard. Richard has already quit and the others are just hanging on, waiting for my return. Three of them, including Cynthia, had other job offers. The atmosphere is one of frustration. The old Vangard people aren't too happy that we're even there and the work my team's been asked to do is mediocre and boring. I already know that Savannah handed in her notice before Christmas. I sit with them and listen to my team’s rants until it's time to see the boss.

Vance is jovial to the point of ingratiation. He asks solicitously about my health and my progress. Then he tells me that he doesn't think a second arts team works for his company and he wants to incorporate us into the existing team.

“You want me to work under Andrew?” He can do that, but I'm still a senior manager with a pay probably twice that of his Art Director. I know that I won't stand for doing anything that doesn't give me complete freedom in my work and I will most certainly _not_ return to work as an accounts manager again.

“Actually, I was wondering if you would consider me buying you out of your contract?”

Since I'm already on the verge of handing in my notice, I’d say, _yes, please_. But, of course, it would be stupid to tell him that. I pretend to be outraged that he wants to ‘fire’ me for being sick and he's quick to offer me all kinds of incentives. In the end, I walk out with a severance package that will see me through the next year or longer, if I’m very careful, plus a retainer for my services for two years in the event of Leo Brown insisting on my participation for his campaigns, as well as a handsome payment in that case. Considering that I'm not even sure that I'll be able to deliver the, as yet hypothetical, goods with the way my hand is, I’d say I've done rather well.

I go down to the Art Department to talk to my team and break the news to them that I'm jumping ship. They don't seem particularly surprised and Cynthia sits down demonstratively to write out her resignation on the spot. I can see that at least Paul and Fiona are considering doing the same, if not all of them. After working at Ryder’s for so long, where everything was easy-going, it was always going to be difficult to get used to the more competitive and adversarial working environment at Vangard. I'm very glad that I don’t have to come back here. It seems that the only thing that we're all a little upset about is that we won't see much of each other in future. So when Fiona suggests that we all go out for a meal in the evening, everyone readily agrees.

Daphne's waiting in reception to take me home and spends the afternoon with me. At night, she drives me to the restaurant where we're all meeting up, stopping just short of walking me all the way to our reserved table. It's the first time that I'm out on my own in a public place and although my anxiety levels are up, it's far from a panic. Of course, most of the evening is spent sitting down and it's only walking that I have a fear of. Still, I'm beginning to regret my decision to tell Daphne that I will be taking a cab back to the loft. None of the people I'm with know about my problems and I’ll be damned if I tell them. I want to be normal again.

Two and a half hours later, Brian walks into the bar, where we have retired to after the meal. He stands in the doorway and looks at me, waiting for my reaction, and when I smile at him, surprised and incredibly relieved, he comes over to us.

Of course, everybody recognizes him and Cynthia even gets up to give him a hug, which makes him smirk. We're all a little drunk. “What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I’ve come to pick Justin up.”

And then there's silence while everyone is looking from me to Brian and back. I feel myself blush. This is what I've always tried to avoid, my private life spread out for everyone to see and judge. I look up at him as he's standing there next to my chair, in jeans and a plain t-shirt, looking gorgeous and very young and very male. Yeah, I won’t hide who I am any longer. I have nothing to be ashamed of. On the contrary, I'm glowing with pride and happiness that Brian is with me and smile broadly at him. 

“I knew you two fancied each other,” Cynthia bursts out with a big smile on her face. “Good for you.” I rather suspect that she's known it was more than that all along, or at least since Chicago.

The others fall in as well, claiming they always knew and would Brian like to sit and have a drink with us. He smiles politely. “Justin and I have other plans.”

“I bet,” Cynthia snickers because she's more than a little tipsy and I blush again.

After I say goodnight and pay our bill at the bar, feeling all eyes on us, I take Brian’s hand as we walk out. No hiding. Ever again.

 

*******      

 

I've found recently that it’s the little things in life that can fuck you up the most. Things you don’t think about, that you take for granted and when they elude you, you suddenly realize how important they are. Like sleep. Long, refreshing and, most of all, nightmare-free sleep. A full fourteen hours of it! When I look at the clock on Saturday morning, I wonder at first if it’s only eight at night because that would be just about my limit recently. But it's light outside, so it must be morning and I feel more rested than I have in a long, long time.

Justin is plastered against me and I feel irrationally grateful to him, like he somehow caused me to sleep and maybe he did. Having him here certainly seems to have kept the nightmares at bay. Of course, that only makes me more pathetic, but today I don’t care.

The last thing I remember from last night is being on top of him and I think it’s quite possible that I passed out after the fuck. And after taunting him about his stamina, too! He won’t stop crowing about that for days. But I also remember that not all was well. Normally, I would ignore it, knowing that he doesn’t want to talk about it. I'm not one to pry. I have enough problems of my own, why would I want to lumber myself with someone else’s?

But it’s not just his problem, is it? This is down to me. I caused this and I will have to sort it out. If I can. And if I can’t… yeah, not thinking about that one. He tells me about his hand and his leg. Sounds to me that the problems with his leg are all in his head. If it hasn’t given out on him in six weeks, chances are that it won’t ever again and he’s just paranoid about it. So let’s tackle that one first.

When I pull him onto the sidewalk, I can feel his resistance. I have to grit my teeth because, really, if it wasn’t for me, he would still be whole and happy, but I managed to fuck him up so much that he's afraid to go out. For a while there, I'm expecting him to just shake me off and run back upstairs. He's as white as a sheet and his grip on my hand is at pain level. Then his other hand clutches my arm near my elbow, and digs in with full force. I’m glad when we reach the supermarket and he can transfer his death grip to the cart. I think I’ll have bruises tomorrow.

When we’re nearly finished, I send him off to get ice cream and I dash down to the fresh food section to grab the first cucumber I can see. Then I rush back, so I can watch him furtively from the end of the aisle. If he freaks out, I don’t want him to be alone. He seems to be okay, but after a while he's looking up and down the aisle constantly, his head turning back and forth and he's biting his thumb now.

I saunter over to him and put the cucumber in the cart, ignoring the fact that he looks incredibly relieved. I will give him a pass for this exercise. A fail would be if he jumped into my arms right now or had a panic attack while I was away. I think he's nowhere near as bad as he thinks he is. Was there no one at the fucking rehab unit who could have done these things with him? Isn’t that what they get paid for? On the other hand, Mother Taylor probably made sure that everybody mollycoddled him as much as she does.

In the afternoon, we have to go to the diner. I didn’t get round to it yesterday and while it’s not the first time I’ve gone back on my deal with Debbie for a day, she won’t allow me a second day. Or maybe she already knows that Justin is home. But when we get there, it doesn’t look like it, which is good because then I won’t have to ream her out for not warning me. I pull Justin into a booth before she can smother him in hugs and kisses. Handholding is good for something after all.

Now it’s my turn to fill him in and I don’t mind. I’m kind of proud of having left home. Finally, I stood up to my parents. Well, not quite. I sneaked out when Jack wasn’t around and I never said anything to Mom either. But it’s all in the past and I won’t think about it any longer. I'm looking ahead – and what I see ahead is moving in with Michael. That would have made me ecstatic not too long ago, but now I’m dreading it a little because I know I'll be under constant scrutiny again. And who in their right mind would look forward to swapping the loft for Debbie’s house anyway?

“I want you to stay.”

Something has changed. Whatever new fears Justin may have developed, pissing me off doesn’t seem to be among them any longer. Before, he always held back. Now, he just comes out with it. Last night, he said that he missed me even though he knows I don’t go in for that kind of mushy stuff. And now he's asking me to live with him?

I'm torn between liking this new Justin and wanting to rein him in. If this carries on, we’ll end up braiding each other’s hair soon. You need to nib these things in the bud before they get out of hand. On the other hand, he's offering to let me carry on living at the loft. I like the loft. It beats being crammed at Debbie’s house and since I met him, I've slowly come to realize that he’s damn good company. That doesn’t mean what he would read into it. It simply means that he’s fun to be with.

But then there are the nightmares. I don’t want him to find out about those. Then again, do I really want Michael and Debbie to find out about those? Because they would, if I stayed with them. I think Justin is the lesser evil. Plus, the only thing that calms me down after I wake up is seeing him. How am I gonna accomplish that if he's at the loft? I can hardly turn up there every night. It would make me look ridiculous. I might as well move in with him.

Justin just suppresses a grin when I agree. Doesn't he realize how obvious he is? I find it amusing at times. At other times it just pisses me off. It’s not that I’m being played because I’m not if I can spot it a mile off, it’s that he thinks he _can_ play me. Does he think I’m an idiot? But today I'm more amused. And maybe a little relieved.

For a while, things go swimmingly. Justin’s problem is actually a lot less severe than I first feared. Naturally, I can’t look into his mind to see how hard it is for him to fight off a panic, but after about a week, he manages to walk down the street without holding my hand just fine. I still like to keep an eye on him, but sometimes I wonder if that's more for me than him. He likes me to be there when he goes anywhere, but he doesn’t need it. I, on the other hand, get antsy when he goes out with, let’s say Daphne. I really need to get a handle on this. I know it’s just guilt for being the cause of his problems and wanting to fix it. And I _should_ feel guilty. Because I am.

Justin takes me with him to pick out a new jeep the next weekend. There isn’t really much choosing involved because it's basically a jazzed up version of the old one and you can be damn sure that this one has an airbag on the passenger side as well. I'm a little unprepared for how uncomfortable the whole thing makes me. Because Justin is still concerned about his hand seizing up during driving, he wants me to drive us home. At that point, I’m ready to walk out of the shop. I really don’t want to do this. But I’m here to help him and I won't behave like a silly queen, so I get behind the wheel eventually.

I can't believe how hard this is. How can this be so hard? My hands are fused to the wheel and I dare not look to the right, because I know that when I look at him, I won’t see him how he is now but how he was then, blood soaked and unconscious. Fuck, will I ever be able to get that image out of my head? I'm glad when we’re home, and Justin doesn’t seem to have noticed anything, so it’s all good.

He tells me he won’t be driving for a while longer and that I should take the car to school with me. At first, I refuse, but after a while I change my mind. Am I really gonna avoid driving for the rest of my life? Not likely. And it's much easier when he’s not in the car. My confidence increases every day and eventually I don’t even think about it anymore.

Daphne calls the next Friday to tell me that she dropped Justin off at a restaurant to have a meal with his colleagues because he lost his job. She's a little concerned about him making his own way home and wants to make sure that I'm aware what time to expect him, so I decide that it’s better if I pick him. When I get there, I see him at a table in the bar, with his team around him. He looks very upbeat for someone who just got fired.

I wait by the door for a few moments. Personally, I don’t think we have anything to worry about. The internship is long over and what we're doing now is no one’s business. I’m also pretty convinced that at least Cynthia knows that we were in the car together when the accident happened. But you never know how Justin feels about it.

He sees me and smiles, pleased and happy, and I walk over to their table. Of course, people remember me. I'm pretty memorable. Cynthia gives me a hug as if I’m some long lost friend of hers. What the fuck is that about? Then she asks what I’m doing here, all innocent as if she doesn’t know anything. I tell them that I’m here for Justin and Justin, who was always pissing his pants before, just smiles up at me happily. On the way out he even takes my hand. Things really have changed.

I don’t quite get why he would give up his job so easily. But it's not my concern. Only now, neither one of us has an income and I can’t help worrying. I didn’t grow up the way he did. Jack losing his job always meant that we would lose our house and have to move. That’s how we ended up in Pittsburgh in the first place. He shows me his settlement and is pretty open about how much money he has and what expenses he's expecting. It only makes me more uncomfortable. I have no idea how much my father earns and quite frankly I don’t think that Mom does either. These things were never discussed in our house.

But two weeks later, he tells me he’s got a new job. He is now the manager of the Sidney Bloom Gallery. I think he’s gone insane. He swaps a highly paid senior management position to run a poky gallery? He must be earning less than half of what he did before. It's madness, complete and utter madness. But after a couple of days in his new job I can tell that he loves it. That has to count for something.

As for myself, I've applied for a few scholarships, but the one I’m most likely to get is the one for the University of Pittsburgh, which is actually the one I've been after. For a while, I was hoping to go out of state but not many universities give out full scholarships and being away from Pittsburgh doesn't seem as  important anymore, now that I no longer live at home. Pitt is very prestigious and it would mean that, afterwards, I could go on to Katz. Then I’ve really got it made.

I finally have an appointment with the scholarship board. Mr. Simmons is thrilled when I tell him and thinks that it means I've been as good as accepted and they just want to see what I’m like. I prefer to wait and see. So I report to Pitt on Wednesday and that is when the shit hits the fan. I should have known that all my past deeds will come back to haunt me one day. They always do.

The first thing I see when I enter the room, all dressed up in my Hugo Boss suit, is a guy I recognize from way back in August – when he sat in Justin’s armchair and stared at me as I was walking around the loft in nothing but a towel. Dave? Doug? Dan. Oh fuck!

The old guy next to him introduces himself as Dean Reynolds, then he introduces Dan – Dr Fuller – as the deputy head of the science department and the other guy on the panel as Dr Bruckner, the deputy head of the English department and _holy fuck!_ it’s Ben, the bouncer at Babylon. My life is a fucking soap opera!

I'm so stunned that I miss the first question and the Dean has to repeat himself. Then I get my head into the game and turn on the charm. In my mind, I’m trying to work out what this new development means for my chances. Now, Ben seems like a nice guy. I'm trying desperately to remember, what happened after we fucked. Did he give me his phone number? I don’t think so. I can’t remember being particularly nasty to him and he's still pleasant whenever I see him at Babylon. So he probably won’t make things difficult for me.

Dan Fuller, however, is another matter. I know that Justin has cut him more or less completely out of his life and if he's upset about that and blames me for it, this could turn ugly. And it does.

“Mr. Kinney,” he says, looking at my references. “I see that your reference for your work experience is very positive, almost glowing.”

I give him a half-smile and just nod while I’m watching him, waiting for him to get to the point.

“Mr. Taylor was your superior during that time?”

“Yes.”

“Is this the same Mr. Taylor you were staying with last year?”

I make a split second decision to not try to cover up that I’m staying with Justin. Dan would exploit that to the fullest extent and it would make me look like I have something to hide. Which I do, but with a bit of luck the real issue won’t come to light.

“You know it is,” I say coldly and the Dean and Ben look first at me and then at Dan in confusion. “You know Justin Taylor personally,” I carry on, because trading off cryptic remarks won’t work and I can't afford to come off as less than open, while he can. “You met me at his apartment last year. Mr. Taylor and I started a relationship after my internship was over. It's not a crime and it has no bearing on my reference.” I'm banking on him not remembering the exact date of his visit because if he does, I’m fucked.

“Really?” he smiles. “So you don’t think that Mr. Taylor was in any way biased when he wrote this, given his feelings for you?”

“No, I don’t. Mr. Taylor has more integrity than any person I've ever met.” _Including you, you fucker!_

“I beg to differ.”

“Really? On what grounds? Is this maybe about the fact that you used to have a relationship with Mr. Taylor yourself and this is personal for you?” There's no point in playing nice. It wouldn’t win him over and the only way I can get out of this is to try to discredit him.

“Is this true, Dan?” the Dean asks.

“It has nothing to do with this,” he blusters. “I’m questioning the validity of the reference, given the fact that Mr. Kinney and the man writing the reference are now in a relationship.”

“You should have excused yourself from the proceedings as soon as you saw Mr. Kinney,” the Dean says. “Your previous relationship with Mr. Kinney’s partner makes you personally involved. You know the rules. Whatever happened after the internship has no bearing on the reference we've received. I’d like to think that people can be objective despite their personal feelings. I'd like to give you the benefit of the doubt, and I'd like to do the same with Mr. Kinney’s reference. Let’s take it at face value, shall we? It _is_ extraordinary.”

“That's what bothers me,” Dan says a little heatedly. “It’s almost too good to be true.”

“Well, if we start rejecting candidates because their references are _too_ good, I think we’ll be in trouble,” Ben cuts in, his voice full of amusement. “And have you seen, Mr. Kinney’s SAT scores? They're almost too good to be true as well. I think we can safely assume that those are genuine. So Mr. Kinney has extraordinary talents.” Here he smiles at me and I have to bite the inside of my cheeks to keep a straight face. “I’d say that’s a reason to accept him rather than reject him, don’t you? Why don’t you tell us something about your plans for the future, Mr. Kinney?”

For the rest of the interview, the reference doesn’t get mentioned again and I'm starting to relax. The Dean seems to like me – at least he’s smiling a lot. Ben was on my side from the beginning and Dan has gone very quiet. Finally, Reynolds thanks me for my time and I'm dismissed.

I smoke a couple of cigarettes outside to calm my nerves. Why the fuck do these things always happen to me? Because I'm an idiot, that’s why. I worked hard for my grades and my reference from Justin is on merit, and it's all in jeopardy because I couldn’t keep it in my pants. If I'm not careful, my dick will cause a lot of trouble in my life. On the other hand, it worked out in Ben’s case. He was very sympathetic and, as I don’t really know him, I put it down to the fuck we had. So maybe I’m wrong about fucking messing things up for me. Maybe it’s being with Justin that’s the problem.

“Hey, Brian.”

I turn around and see Ben approaching me.

“Hey, Ben.”

“I was hoping to catch you, before you leave.”

“Well, you caught me.”

“I just wanted to tell you not to worry about Dan. You're our best candidate. The Dean won’t reject you just because Dan has issues with your boyfriend. You’re looking good.”

I grin at that, neglecting to tell him that Justin's not my boyfriend.

He smiles back at me. “On paper, Brian. You’re looking good on paper. Best references and best SAT scores. We would be stupid not to take you.” He winks and I know then that the decision's already been made. Well, that’s a relief. “Mind you, you look good in person, too. Nice suit. Listen, Brian, I wanted to ask you a favor.”

I raise my eyebrow, smirking. Really, everything's a trade and Justin has no clue what he’s talking about.

“Not that kind of favor. I would be grateful if you didn’t mention to anybody on Liberty Avenue that I work here.”

I have to laugh. He lectures at Pitt during the day and he’s a bouncer at Babylon at night and it’s his _day_ job he’s ashamed of? “Why are you working at Babylon anyway? Pitt not paying you enough?”

“Nothing like that. I’m writing a book on gay culture and my job at Babylon is my research. So the less people know about it, the better. I’m worried that it'll distort how people treat me.”

“Believe me, professor, they won’t care.”

“Probably not, but still…”

“I won’t say a word.”

“Thank you. I haven’t seen you at Babylon for a while. Or your friend.” Ah, he’s still got the hots for Michael then.

“Just taking a breather. We’ll be back.”

He nods and tells me that he has to get back. I decide to smoke another cigarette. Come to think of it, when _was_ the last time we went to Babylon? I’m not sure, which means it was way too long ago. Justin's still a little nervous of crowds. So what have I been doing all this time? Babysitting, that’s what. Staying in with Justin. Going to Woody’s with Justin. Going to the diner with Justin. We’re turning into a couple. I don’t even correct people anymore when they call him my boyfriend, for fuck’s sake! 

This is not good. Maybe Michael is right when he complains that I never have time for him anymore. This has to stop. Justin is better now and the whole point was getting him better, right? Yes, it's time to stop.

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justin's POV only.

 

**PART  EIGHTEEN**

Right from the beginning, or almost so, I realized that Brian has these hidden depths, although he seldom lets them show. Strangely enough, it was the way that he treats Michael that made it clear to me. To most people their relationship looks odd. Brian is a high-flyer in every way. He's beautiful and hot, he's intelligent and educated, he has drive and determination, he's funny and charming. He can also be belligerent and downright cruel. But however condescending, and sometimes cold, he is with Michael, there's an underlying affection and care that shines through without fail – if you only know how to look.

Michael, on the other hand, is none of those things. He's attractive in an innocent boy-next-door way, although not to me personally. For someone who goes to the same school, he's far less educated than Brian and that may be because he's also less intelligent. He coasts through his life, doing what either his mother or Brian tell him to do and even though he can be funny, his humor is more slapstick than intellectual. He's also easy-going and friendly, if not to me, then to most other people.

I can understand that Michael worships Brian – hell, I worship him in my own way. He looks up to his best friend and he's in love with him. But his proprietary attitude grates with me and if I hear him say ‘Brian and I are best friends’ in that smug superior voice one more time, I think I will deck him, even though none of this is his fault. Brian encourages his attitude and if Michael strays just a little bit off in the direction of somebody else, taking his adoring eyes off of Brian for more than a few minutes, he will do something to reel him back in. So maybe Michael is right. Maybe Brian is keeping him close for later, when he’s ready to settle down.    

Me, I’m a people pleaser. I like harmony and peace in my life, so I've always done and said the things to achieve that. I've done uncountable favors for people I barely like just because they asked me and it was easier to say yes. I don’t talk about or demonstrate my homosexuality to anybody who might be made uncomfortable by it. Before Brian, my mother never saw me kiss any of my boyfriends. The fact that we were together ‘in that way’ was always implied but never talked about. I never even held hands with any of my boyfriends in public. I also never denied it. To anybody. At school or at work, if anybody asked me or, as in school: taunted me, my reaction would invariably be, ‘Yes, I’m gay, so what’? I would have said the same to my father if he'd asked me. He just never did.

But when I come home from the hospital, everything's changed suddenly. First of all, Brian's changed. He is caring and solicitous, especially when we’re out. He doesn’t move from my side unless he has to go to school. We spend all our time together. At first it’s a necessity, because I don’t dare leave the house without him, but after a while I get better and it's no longer necessary, just pleasant.

And I've changed. I don't want to do that people-pleasing thing anymore, because, really, what it comes down to is that you live your life to suit others, not yourself. And there's nothing like a brush with death to make you aware that maybe there isn’t unlimited time for you to do what you want later, after you’ve pleased everyone else. The process of becoming more assertive, which started gradually with the death of my father and meeting Brian, has been pushed forward at light speed.

Take work, for example. I realize that I don't want to work at Vangard anymore, so I quit. I don’t even consider staying on for my team, who've been waiting around for me to return to work to see if things would get better with me there. Before, I would have felt guilty that I asked them back to work with me at Vangard, only to abandon them a few months later. Now, I think that I gave them a few months longer in employment and they can always stay on. If they don’t, that's their decision. I can't base my life on what is good for them.

My mother has already withdrawn for the most part, sensing that I will no longer listen to her or even discuss my business with her. She's always been good to me and nobody could ask for a better parent, but her ideas and attitudes no longer fit my life. And the same goes for my old friends at the GLC.

And then there is Brian. Up to now, I've tiptoed around him, never making any demands, letting him set the boundaries he's comfortable with and holding back. No more.I tell him that I missed him on my first day back. I tell him that I want him to move in on the second day and the only reason I shy away from telling him that I love him is because I think he needs time to adjust. It's easier than expected, but maybe that's partly because he's so very focused on getting me better at the moment.

I know that a lot of his behavior is down to guilt. He's here all the time because he thinks he’s broken me and wants to fix it. He tolerates my tokens of affection because he thinks I’m upset and that's his fault, too. When I hold his hand or caress him, he lets me because he thinks he owes me. I feel a little guilty for taking advantage of that, but sometimes it seems to me that he likes it well enough and just doesn’t want to admit it. It feels like the care and affection he’s showing is genuine, and at the back of my mind, I suppose, I’m hoping that he will get used to it and it will become the norm.

When my hand cramps up in his presence for the first time, I try to hide it from him. I'm simply mortified. But my pencil falling to the floor has alerted him and he looks over from where he’s been doing his homework, habitually checking that I’m alright, as he does nowadays. Trying to look busy doesn’t fool him for a second and he gets up immediately and comes over to where I’m sitting on the couch, trying to draw him. Of course, I’m already upset by the fact that the picture I’m producing looks nothing like I see it in my head or like it would have looked before the accident. This is the first time I've seriously tried to draw since it happened. He was just so beautiful, if a little goofy, with his pencil stuck sideways between his teeth, frowning in concentration, and I couldn’t resist. Now I have to suffer the consequences.

I hide my hand behind my back, which makes me feel and look like a child. What is he going to do? Scold me for having a cramp? But that’s not the problem at all, is it? I don’t want him to see it. I feel ugly and somehow unclean. He'll be disgusted and he will leave, once he’s got past his guilt. Brian picks up the pencil off the floor and sits down next to me. Then he puts his hand on my arm and tries to pull it from behind my back. I stubbornly resist.

“Justin,” he says, just that one word and it makes me sigh and let him have his way. He looks at my hand, which is frozen into a claw with the fingertips almost touching. I want to close my eyes, not really keen to see his expression, but then I can’t tear my gaze away. I don’t want to see his disgust, but I need to know if it’s there. It’s impossible to work out what he’s thinking, only his guilt is written clearly on his face.

“Do you need a painkiller?”

I shake my head. The pain isn't that bad. It’s the fact that my own body doesn’t do what I want it to do that's so distressing. I feel angry and let down and scared what it will do to Brian. Or make Brian do.

He takes my hand into both of his and starts massaging it. I have to do exercises several times a day, but so far I've never let him help. I never realized that he was watching me, which he must have done, because he knows exactly what to do. And then he does something that I wouldn't have expected in a million years. He pulls my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it before sucking on each of my fingertips in turn. It's very erotic. When it finally opens, after some more massaging, he kisses the palm of it as well. Now I have trouble not to smother him with kisses. Hidden depths. I knew it.

So Brian has turned into the perfect boyfriend. It becomes apparent to me after a while that what he does has shifted from being for my benefit to being for his. Even after I don’t really need help any longer, he can’t stop monitoring me all the time. And that is when I realize that it's still all down to guilt. There's no gradual acceptance of our relationship on his part. He's not suddenly madly in love with me or ready to settle down. How could he be? He’s seventeen.

He's also struggling with trying to combine his old life with his new one. I don't feel comfortable going to Babylon yet. The thought of being pushed and shoved in the middle of a crowd freaks me out still. We go to the diner and Woody’s mainly, to meet up with his friends and he never leaves my side to trick anymore, although I can see him checking out every hot guy there is, so I know it's not going to last.

And then there is Michael. For a while he was sympathetic, always asking me how I was, although I notice that he never comes to the loft anymore. Whether that's because he’s not comfortable here when I’m here or because Brian told him to stay away, I can't tell. But gradually his attitude has changed.

A few times I overhear Brian talking to Michael on the phone. I'm not eavesdropping, Brian makes no effort to hide anything from me, just standing by the window, looking out while he's talking but not lowering his voice. I don’t know what they are discussing, but Brian is placating Michael, saying ‘I can’t’ a few times in a regretful tone. When he’s done, I tell him he should go out with Michael on his own and he just grunts something and returns to his studies.

Then one night in Woody’s, Michael asks Brian to come to Babylon in front of everyone and when Brian says I’m not ready, he asks him why he can't come on his own. I don’t mind that. In fact, I’m all for it because what Brian is doing at the moment, however much I enjoy it, is not good for us. He will feel trapped sooner or later and act out. I’d rather he wasn’t so strict with himself, so we can find some middle ground, something that suits us both and is sustainable. But, of course, Brian resents being told what to do and sticks to his guns.

And then Michael really starts, every time we meet up. Not on Brian but on me. When will I let Brian out again? Am I sure that I want to let Brian go to the restroom on his own? Wouldn’t I rather go with him so I can keep an eye on him? And more in the same vein, all said with the appearance of being a joke and within Brian’s hearing. I try and stay calm because I can see his point. Brian was all set to move in with him and then he didn’t. He hardly ever sees Brian nowadays and that must be hard for him. So I just tell him that Brian is free to do what he likes, wondering if just having to point that out will offend Brian’s sensibilities. Brian usually pretends that he doesn’t even hear the remarks. Only once does he snarl at Michael to shut up, so viciously and unexpectedly that it makes all of us jump. I can’t quite work out what has him so angry, all Michael did was call me a warden.

Only when we're alone does Michael turn really nasty. Telling me that Brian is only with me still because he feels guilty. That it's selfish of me to play on Brian’s feelings for my own advantage. That I should stop pretending that there's anything wrong with me to get to Brian. I veer between wanting to hit him and agreeing with him in my head. Although I'm certainly not playing it up, I also know that Michael is right. What Brian is doing at the moment is out of character, so I know – and Michael knows – that it's down to guilt. I'm not denying that. I just want to enjoy what I have for as long as it's going to last.

I've been working at the gallery for a month now and every day is full of enjoyment. I wish I'd changed jobs years ago. One day, Filippo comes in to view the impressionist exhibition we have on. He's very surprised to see me. After I came out of the hospital, I never bothered to call him. In fact, I rarely even thought about him, which is surprising since for weeks he was a very important part of my life. I feel a bit guilty about that now. As it's near my lunch break, Filippo and I go to the diner to eat and catch up.

As usual, we have a lively conversation. He's fun to talk to and we always got on well. It's amazing how much activity he can cram into his life. I feel very lazy just by listening to him. Then, suddenly, he points towards the entrance with his chin and when I turn to look, I see Michael and Brian enter the diner. My face breaks out into an involuntary smile, like it always does when I see Brian and I ignore Michael’s scowl. Brian’s scowl I can’t ignore. Bad day at school, perhaps?

He saunters over to our table and sits down beside me, pushing me further into the booth with his hip. Ignoring Filippo, he cups my neck and kisses me so thoroughly and with so much tongue, that I'm wondering if he's going to drag me into the men's room next or even fuck me right here on the table. But he isn’t. He's just marking his territory, like pissing on a lamppost – or, in this case, me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask a little breathlessly. “I thought you were at school.”

“Obviously,” he snarks and gets up. “Michael needed to pick up his lunch from his mom. I let you two carry on with your session.”

And then he and Michael leave again. I look after them, seeing Brian sling his arm over his friend’s shoulders, kissing his temple and both of them laughing. When I look back at Filippo, I feel a bit embarrassed. Brian was very rude, not to mention behaving like a brat.

“He’s very young,” Filippo says pensively.

“Only on the outside.” I don’t want to talk about Brian. It feels disloyal to him and I imagine it must be uncomfortable for Filippo, given how he feels about me. I like this guy and I wish we could be friends, but that's always difficult when one is in love with the other and both know it. Although Brian and Michael seem to manage it. Maybe never acknowledging it is enough to make it work. We could try. When he asks me to come to his studio some time to look at his sculptures, I readily agree. I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m allowed to have friends.

 

It only takes me a day or two to realize that my honeymoon with Brian is well and truly over. The first time Brian disappears into the restroom at Woody’s and doesn’t come out for over twenty minutes, I'm trying to dismiss it as paranoia. He hasn’t tricked in front of me since I've come out of the hospital. But as time goes by, I can't ignore the fact that there's just not that much else he could be doing in there.

After a while, Ted and Emmett are looking uncomfortable as well and try to fill the awkward silence with chatter, while Michael just has a smug grin on his face. I can't help thinking that this must be one of the very few times when he's enjoying Brian having sex with some other guy. In general, he's just as hurt by it as I am. If not more.

Brian returns and behaves as if nothing has happened, so I do, too. What else can I do? I knew it wouldn't last forever. Of course, I can't be sure that it hasn't happened before either, but as he's always with me, I think I would have noticed. Surely, there aren't that many opportunities for casual sex at school. I'm left in no doubt about what he was doing in the bathroom when, before he comes to bed that night, he showers. Alone.

I tell myself that it was only a matter of time. Brian’s monogamy was only incidental and was always going to be temporary. Do I really expect him to only have sex with me? He is seventeen. How long would that last? I have rarely been with guys who could keep it in their pants and I've been tempted many times myself. Usually it was only the thought that I would hurt my boyfriend, that kept me from straying. With Brian it's different. I really don’t feel the need for anyone else.

Then Brian steps up the campaign. First, he increases the number of tricks he has a night. It's quickly getting to a point where it is futile to start playing pool with him, as he will invariably become distracted in the middle of the game and disappear. I can't decide what is worse, the humiliation of seeing the pity in Ted and Emmett’s faces or the satisfaction in Michael’s smile.

After another week or so, Brian declares one night that he wants to go to Babylon. The very thought makes me break out in a cold sweat and I shake my head. I just can’t. Emmett says that Woody’s is nice enough and why don’t we all stay here, but Michael points out how long we haven’t gone to the club. That people must think that we've disappeared from the face of the earth. Or all found husbands.

Brian is out of his seat in seconds, pulling Michael up with him. “You coming?” he asks me casually.

I shake my head. I'm not ready and, really, what would be the point? Brian will only be in the backroom all night. That isn't something I need to watch. “You guys go. I’m a bit tired. I’ll just go home.”

“Of course, you will,” he says in a tone that makes it sound as if he's suspecting me of doing something else entirely. Must be his guilty conscience. It always makes him turn things around and point the finger at other people. Although the idea of Brian feeling guilty about his tricking is quite ludicrous. Emmett offers to walk home with me as if I need to be chaperoned – by a sixteen-year-old boy, no less – or maybe he's just feeling sorry for me. But I decline, wanting to be alone.

Outside Woody’s, we all say goodbye. Well, the others do, Brian is already steering Michael in the direction of Babylon with the barest of nods to me. As I'm walking home, I try to work out what's happening. If Brian wants to start tricking again, I'm willing to tolerate it. I've been expecting it and I made that decision a long time ago. I'm sure that Brian will stop tricking at some stage in his life, be it from the rigors of old age alone, but he's not ready for that and it would be wrong to force it on him. And impossible.

It's not really the tricking as such that is bothering me. He did it before and it was no problem and I'm sure that we can find a way to make it work now. But it’s the way he does it, so openly and in my face. It's almost as if he's doing it deliberately in the most hurtful way possible. I feel like I'm being punished, only I don’t know what for. Who knows what's going on in that scrambled brain of his? Maybe he just feels that I somehow tricked him into toeing the line and is angry because he feels duped. Or maybe he simply feels trapped and thinks I forced him to do something he didn't want to do.

I should talk to him about it, but I need a few days to get used to the new situation before I can do that without anger and accusations. When I finally do, I wish I kept my mouth shut. Brian is nothing if not vitriolic. What the fuck happened? One minute he was all caring and – dare I say it? – loving, the next minute he's back to his old self. And he's been incredibly withdrawn for the last week or so, to the point of barely even talking to Michael anymore either.

“Are you telling me I can’t fuck other guys?” he asks in an amused voice, one eyebrow raised.

“No, I'm asking you if we could have some ground rules.”

“What for?”

I shrug. What can I say to that? Common decency? Consideration? They all imply that he owes me any of that, which in turn means that we're in a relationship, which he has yet to admit to out loud.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he carries on, his eyes blazing now. “You and I are both free to do what we like. I can fuck who I want and so can you. Which I’m sure you're well aware of. If you feel that I in any way owe you for the free board and lodging, then say so and you can take it out in trade.”

Oh God, we’re back to that again? “You don’t owe me anything,” I say quietly but firmly.

“Good. Then are we both clear?”

“I just wish you were a bit more discreet.” Not really what I mean, but I can hardly say, _I wish you wouldn’t make me feel like you’re doing it to hurt me._   

“Again I ask you: what for?”

I look at him. This is hopeless. He has no idea what I'm talking about, how much he's hurting me or that there could possibly be a reason that he should try to avoid that. To him, relationships are traps designed to curtail a man’s freedom, not places of comfort and security. He has no desire for either of those things, nor does he want to provide them for others or does he know how to.

“I don’t want to see it, is all.” I hate how small my voice sounds. It's all well and good saying things to Brian when he's somewhat receptive, like he was after I first came home from the hospital, but it's an altogether different matter to say them to him when he's aggressive and sneering. “I just won’t come out with you anymore,” I say with more conviction, smiling at him to make it clear that this solution is fine with me. And it is. The tricking is not the problem, the way he treats me is.

“How convenient,” he snarks.

“Did I do something?”

“I don’t know. Did you?”

“No. I just get the feeling that I’m being punished for something.”

“Now, what would I be punishing you for? You're free to do what you like. I have no claim on you. And I’m getting bored with this conversation. I’m going out.”

I stare at the loft door when he's gone. Yeah, that went really well. If anything, I'm more hurt now than before. When he wants to, he can be incredibly distant and cold and that hurts more than the tricks. And somewhere in there he said something that I didn’t understand. Something I missed. And not just today. I've had this feeling for a week or two now, nagging away at the back of my mind, but try as I might, I can't work out what it is, no matter how many times I go over our conversations.  

Daphne isn't much help either. “He’s just scared, Justin. He woke up one morning and realized that he’s in a genuine relationship and he got scared.”

“Well, Michael keeps telling him that he’s cock-whipped.”

“Don’t make this about Michael. Brian is his own person.”

This is the first time she has said anything even remotely critical about Brian. “Since when are you no longer Brian’s cheerleader?”

“Since you're getting hurt. And I suppose I’m frustrated that he seemed to get the hang of it and now he’s slipping back. It offends my professional sensibility that I can’t talk him out of his disorders.”

“Have you ever considered that Michael might be right? That he's just with me for convenience? Or out of guilt?”

“Anything's possible, Justin. I told you that before.”

So, yeah, Daphne isn't really that much help at the moment. I'm irrationally angry with her for not supplying me with her usual rose-tinted support and refuse to call her for a few days. And I'm angry with Brian for reverting back to our early days, when he showed not a scrap of consideration for me. And most of all, I'm angry with myself because I can’t seem to find a way out of the situation. I'm trying to let him have his freedom, but does it really have to include trampling on my feelings? Because he's back to not being very nice to me, even when he's here. Although perversely, we seem to have more sex than we did before. If that's even possible.

Filippo turns up at the gallery after I've not seen him for three weeks and I know it's not for the art. I promised him to get together, but I've not called him. It didn’t really have anything to do with him, I just had a lot on my mind. As it's the end of my working day, I agree to come and see his work, because Brian nowadays only comes home to eat and sleep. It's safe to say that I won't be missed.

It's not far to Filippo’s studio, just a short walk from the gallery. What he didn't tell me is that his ‘studio’ is just a room in his apartment. We spend about an hour or so just looking at his sculptures, which are interestingly abstract. I always wanted to try sculpting, but my hand probably won’t allow that for now. Then we sit in his living room and drink coffee and eat leftover pizza from the night before.

“So how are things with you?” he asks with a smile.

At first, I just talk about my health. That I can now walk anywhere I like without fear and how much Brian helped me with that. And how my hand now only cramps when I overexert it and that I almost always manage to read the warning signs and stop in time. Of course, it still frustrates me that I have to stop when it happens, usually for several hours. But at least my art looks a little more like it used to nowadays.

And somehow we move seamlessly from talking about how I am physically to how I am emotionally.

When I was at the hospital, we talked about Brian a lot because, at the time, I was completely focused on him or rather on the fact that he never came to see me.

“Have you ever thought about not putting yourself through that anymore? I mean, it doesn’t sound like you think it will change any time soon, if ever. And he's so very young.”

“I know. I sometimes wonder that myself.”

“You deserve something better, Justin. You deserve someone to treat you right.”

I look at him and I know what he's saying. I can’t really claim that I'm surprised at his advances or that I didn't expect this to go any further than a conversation. He leans forward to kiss me and I don't pull back this time. It's nice to be wanted for once and cherished, not treated like a convenience to be used or even a nuisance to be endured. But when his hands start to wander with obvious intent, I move away sharply.

“I can’t,” I say. “It wouldn’t be fair to you. I would be using you and I like you too much for that.” Which is true, but my thoughts are really about Brian and how I would be betraying him, if only by my own standards. Because he really doesn't care if I sleep with other guys. But then again, it’s my own standards that matter.

“I’m not complaining about being used,” he replies with a smile, but he makes no move to carry on. I'm grateful for that.

“I have to go.”

I almost flee from his apartment and walk all the way to the loft at an almost run. Why the hell do I always get myself into these kinds of situations? I like Filippo and now I screwed that up completely, never mind how guilty I feel about Brian. And isn’t that ironic? He fucks anything that moves and I feel guilty for _kissing_ a guy.   

I don’t want anyone but Brian. But I also want to stop hurting and it's true that there's no reason to think that he'll stop doing that to me anytime soon, or ever. Much as I want him to be here, I wonder why he's even living with me still. When I get home from work nowadays, he's never here. I can see that he’s been home – books still open from where he’s been studying, dirty dishes stacked in the sink from his meal – but he's never here.

When he comes in at night, I'm usually in bed. I'm beginning to hate the sound of the shower. Somehow it always seems to me now, that he's being demonstrative about taking a shower, that he's taunting me with letting me know he’s been with other guys. On the other hand, I don’t want him to not take a shower, so maybe I’m just being paranoid in thinking that he's somehow infusing it with a sinister meaning.

Afterwards, he comes to bed and we fuck. For hours, because he doesn’t seem satisfied until I get too tired or too sore. From a sexual standpoint, it's great, very arousing and extremely satisfying, because nobody knows my body like Brian does. But when he rolls away from me afterwards, I feel almost unbearably lonely because the connection that we had seems to have been lost and I don’t know how to get it back. In some ways, it would be easier if it had never been there at all, but, on the other hand, I know I'll never give up now, because now I know that we can be so much more. 

In the morning, we shower together and we have shower sex, but it doesn’t make anything better. We always have breakfast together as well, but it doesn’t lead to any conversations besides the most superficial ones. Only today is different somehow.  There's a tension in the air, and I can't work out if it's coming from me, because I'm feeling guilty, or from him.

“Will you be out again tonight?”

I feel a hot stab of fear and I'm sure it's showing on my face. I’m just no good at hiding my feelings. “What do you mean?”  

“You weren’t here for dinner last night. I’m just asking if you will be tonight.”

Guilt makes me belligerent for once. “How would you even know? You’re never here when I get in.”

“I was last night,” he says and starts buttering another slice of toast. “I'm just asking because I need the loft for a couple hours if you don’t mind. Undisturbed.”

He's asking me to stay away from my own home? What for? What could he possibly be doing that requires being completely uninterrupted? My first thought is tricking, but, really, since when does Brian need to be undisturbed for that? In general, the bigger the audience, the more he likes it.

“I can make myself scarce if you want, but I would really like to know why.”

“That’s great. Thank you.” 

Huh? This must be the first time he's ever formally thanked me for anything, which gives me my first indication that he has set this whole conversation up very carefully. I also notice that he hasn't answered my question. 

“I have to break one of the ground rules as well.”

I suppose it could be viewed as consideration that he tells me about it – and beforehand as well – although it doesn’t sound like he’s asking permission. He doesn’t need to because even if I say no, he'll either just do it anyway or do it somewhere else rather. I'm not sure any longer that I even want to know what he's planning. I have the uncomfortable feeling that I already know which one of the rules he's talking about.

“Planning a party?” I ask half-heartedly.

“For two.” He gets up and puts his plate into the sink.

“You wanna explain that rather cryptic remark to me?”

He looks at me, where I'm sitting across the counter from where he's standing and then he comes closer, leaning on it so he can speak into my face, slowly and calmly.

“I need a place to be undisturbed because Michael wants me to be his first. I promise to change the sheets afterwards. Or we can go somewhere else if you object.” Then he turns and goes to get his stuff ready for school.

He wants to… _what_? He cannot be serious! Not only does he want to fuck someone in my loft – in my bed! – he wants to fuck _Michael_? And he thinks I'll just say ‘okay, I’ll go and have a coffee at Starbucks while you’re doing that’? Even he must realize that there are about a million things wrong with that idea. Or does he? Maybe he’s just baiting me. I get out of my seat and follow him to the table. “Please, tell me this is a sick joke.”

“No joke, sick or otherwise. He asked me. I said yes. How could I not? He’s my best friend. Wouldn’t you have done the same for Daphne? You know, if you were straight?” He's still busy with getting his books together.

“I did. It’s not the same.”

That stops him and he looks at me in surprise. Then he barks out a laugh. “You were Daphne’s first? How was it?”

Actually, she was my first as well, but I’ll be damned if I talk about that youthful madness with him. “That’s between Daph and me. We're not talking about that. We're talking about you and Michael doing the dirty. In my bed!”

“I thought it was our bed,” he smiles, as if I just proved some obscure point for him.

“Are you even listening to yourself? _Our_ bed. And you want to fuck your best friend in it! Someone we both know. I will burn it down if you do, Brian.”

“Okay, okay, message received. We’ll do it at Debbie’s. She’s on late shift this week.” He still seems amused.

I rub my forehead and try to remain calm. I’ve already raised my voice and it isn't helping.

“Brian, listen to me, just this once. _Please_.”

“I’m listening.”

“I know you have no idea how relationships work. This is _not_ how it works. If you do this, you'll fuck up your friendship. There's no coming back from that. Michael's in love with you! You can’t just fuck him and think that everything will be the same afterwards. He will hate you forever.”

“He asked for it. It’s just a favor among friends. Like you did with Daphne. I owe him that.”

“You owe him squat. If he's really your friend, he won’t ask for anything in return. Because friends don’t. And what the fuck do you owe him for anyway? For being there when things got rough at home? For patching you up when you had a bloody nose? Debbie did that, too. Does that mean you owe her a fuck, too?”

“Watch your mouth,” he says warningly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do! I may not have been there when Michael was, but I know that you do a lot for him, too. It’s who you are. You protect him at school. You help him with his homework. You take him out with you and look out for him. You're friends. You owe each other friendship and nothing else! Sex isn’t part of that. Please, don’t do this to yourself, Brian.” I have to take a deep breath to get the next bit out and even then I falter. “Unless…”

He looks at me for a while, serious and calm now. “Unless what, Justin?”

“Unless you’re in love with him, too.”   

I can barely say the words because this has been my biggest fear all along. That the cynical and closed-off Brian is or will fall in love with someone – and it isn’t me. That he will give that someone all the things he's withholding from me. Things that I've glimpsed at times, that he's given me on and off, always snatching them away when I get too comfortable with them.

He barks out a laugh again. “Is that what it is? You’re jealous? Love's an illusion, Justin. You should know that by now. Mikey and I are just friends.”

“What happened to ‘you don’t fuck your friends’?”

“I’m not gonna make a habit of it. It’s a one-time deal.” He slings his backpack over his shoulder and starts towards the door.

“Brian.”

He’s obviously had enough of this conversation because he doesn’t stop walking. I have to be quick.

“If you do this, you will lose Michael.” No reaction. “And you will lose me.”

He falters for just a moment and then the door rolls shut behind him.

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brian's POV only.

 

**PART  NINETEEN**

I can’t understand what the problem is. Normally, I decide what I want, then I work out how to get it and then I do what must be done. That is how it works. All it takes is intelligence, careful planning and discipline. But ever since I met Justin, that doesn’t seem to work any longer. I decided a long time ago that all I need or want to know about any guy is how he fucks. What else is there? And for that, once is enough.

And then he came along. Suddenly, once wasn’t enough any longer, not by a long shot, and I still can’t work out why it was different with him. Then there was the internship. It was easy to see what needed to be done. If anybody found out what we were doing, we would both be fucked. Simple solution: stop doing it. He knew it and I knew it and what did we do? Exactly what we should not do. How does that make sense?

Then he started reeling me in. At first he offered me himself, then he offered me a place to hang out. I knew he was tempting me and I knew I should say no because anything that looks too good to be true, usually is. And what did I do? The complete opposite of what I should have done. I took the key and started practically spending all my time at the loft. It was okay at first, because I was just freeloading, but then it turned into something completely different. I could see it happening, but I didn’t stop. Every day I told myself that one more day wouldn’t hurt, until the days turned into a couple of months.

And then there was New York and everything turned to shit. I'm not as ungrateful as people think I am. Just because I don’t express it, doesn’t mean that I don’t know when people are good to me. And just because I can’t always work out their ulterior motives, doesn’t mean that they don’t have any. Everybody does. But whatever Justin’s motives were for treating me the way he did, what it comes down to is that he was good to me, consistently, and for a brief time, just one weekend, he managed what no one else ever managed before, he made me forget who and what I am. And how did I repay him? By nearly killing him and fucking up the one thing that he loves, his art.

One of the things that really gets to me is that he doesn’t remember. I asked him about it and he said everything becomes hazy and distorted after Friday evening, which was nice and cozy but nothing compared to what happened after that. So I have to ask myself if maybe there's a reason for that. Maybe he’s repressing it and, if so, why? Maybe when I gave him the attention he always seemed to crave, he realized that it wasn’t what he wanted. Or he never craved it in the first place and I got my wires crossed. Or maybe it's a punishment of some sort, not from him, but from fate or something. Or to be less theatrical, maybe I was imagining things or just plain remember it wrong. So when he tentatively asked me what happened in New York, I changed the subject.

However, I like to pay my debts. I can’t bear the idea that I owe anybody anything. I don’t mind other people owing me, and I’m not even particularly interested in repayment, but for myself, it's out of the question. I won't allow anybody that kind of hold over me. But how do you work off a debt like that, fucking up someone’s life? And for a while there, I took even more from him instead of giving back. I lived at his loft. And what was more: every night I went to the hospital to draw strength from seeing him. He was sick and broken and I was there to look at him to make myself feel better. That’s all kinds of wrong.

So I always knew that I had to leave when he came back. I couldn’t take from him anymore. It wasn’t right. But then he was there and he asked me to stay and I owed him that much, right? And I owed him that I would try my hardest to make life easier for him. But of course I was just deluding myself. I didn’t do it for him. It was all for myself. Because I'm selfish. He was the one who stopped my nightmares dead. I can’t even begin to describe what a relief that was. And all that time we spent together, that he thought I was doing it for him? That was for me, too, because I couldn’t bear to have him out of my sights. And he still provided for me. He gave me his car, for fuck’s sake!  

It took me a long time to work out that I wasn’t doing either one of us any favors. He got more and more comfortable with me, deluding himself that it was love. And I got more and more comfortable with him, when I knew it wasn’t going to last.

I never wanted a relationship with anybody. Relationships are a sham. You don’t even have to be as hateful and miserable as my parents are. Just watch the guys at school. Everyone goes out with everyone, and every now and then, they swap partners. It’s obvious that none of that is about any great feelings. A good-looking guy and a pretty girl date because they look good together. It raises their status. Then one or both of them see something better, or just new and different, and off they go into the next relationship. Why do they bother? They could just fuck who they fancy and be friends with everyone else. But, of course, girls are not like that, so the guys play along to all that love crap just to get laid. Queers are smarter than that. Just fuck who you like and then move on to the next. No pretense, no pain. For everything else, you have friends.

I never had many friends. In fact, Michael is the only friend I ever had. I've always been part of groups, hanging out to have a good time, but not particularly attached, Michael changed that for me. Suddenly, I had someone who wanted to be with me to the exclusion of everyone else. At first, it was strange, a little stifling, a little worrisome, but then it got comfortable and it never stopped being that. And, on top of that, Michael had Debbie, who provided a safe place to stay, no questions asked.

Once we got to the stage where it became obvious to everyone that we were gay, we ended up pretty much isolated at school. The girls aren’t interested unless they have the ambition to convert us, and the guys are downright hostile. It meant a lot of fighting at first and then things settled down, more for me than for Mikey.

I suppose I always knew that Mikey had a crush on me. It amused me at first and I thought he'd grow out of it quickly. But he didn’t. I learned to live with it. He never said anything, so I pretended not to notice. And it worked. By then, I was used to Mikey and he was honestly the only person I loved unconditionally. I think that if he could love me the way I love him, then my life would be complete. The fun we could have, fucking our way through Liberty Avenue and beyond.

But as it is, I have to manage him carefully. Unlike me, Michael has other friends now. Ted and Emmett for starters, although I know he would drop them in a heartbeat for me. But I can’t help wondering what will happen if he ever stops being in love with me. Will he end up feeling about me the way I feel about him? Or will he realize what a complete asshole I am and cut me out of his life?

I really don’t know the answer to that one, although my gut feeling tells me it’s the latter. So I have to make sure that he never stops. I carefully give him just enough hope to keep him going. Like I said, I’m selfish, but I can’t hear him complaining either.

Only sometimes he does, especially recently. It started when Justin was released from the hospital. Until then, Michael and I fully expected that I would move in with him and his mother as soon as Justin came home. It was kind of part of the deal I had with Debbie, although since my emancipation came through, I suppose I could live wherever I fancy. Only, where would I go? I have no money.

He was really excited about me moving in and I thought it would be fun. And then Justin asked me to stay. Mikey was extraordinarily upset. He told me I was supposed to be with him and Debbie because they'd been practically my family for three years now. I knew he was right, but there was actually not that much choice involved and I really don’t get what his issue with Justin is. It’s not as if being with Justin distracts from what Michael and I have. Those are completely different things.

I admit that I've spent an excessive amount of time with Justin. He's always there and I don’t mind that so much, in fact, I prefer it. What difference does it make to Michael that Justin is with us when he and I meet? It’s not as if Michael and I discuss any great secrets when we're alone or need privacy to fuck like Justin and I do. But recently he's always getting digs in, mainly about how Justin doesn’t let me out. What am I? Five? I'm more of an adult than Mikey is or has he forgotten that I'm now my own boss? Justin doesn’t let me do or not do anything. I want it this way. I suppose, I’m still paying back my debt to him and, quite frankly, I feel comfortable with him around.

But Michael is relentless. Every day he calls me and asks me to meet. I tell him to come to the loft, but he doesn’t want to do that. I tell him to meet at Woody’s, but he doesn’t want that either. He wants me to spend time with just him, like we used to, and I want that, too. But I can’t leave Justin. Justin says he doesn’t mind, but I’m not so sure. And every time I tell Michael that I can’t, I wonder if this is the moment when he decides that enough is enough. And because I know that all, for a lack of a better word: ‘romantic’ relationships are based on lies and deceit, I know that eventually Justin and I will cease to be. In fact, it’s a miracle we lasted this long. But even though I'm worried that Michael will no longer be waiting around for me by the time Justin and I are finished, I can’t seem to do what needs to be done, which is stop seeing Justin and go back to hang out with Michael. 

It all comes back to the beginning: Justin and I have never done what was good and sensible for some reason and I can’t work out why.

So Michael is pulling me one way and Justin is not pulling me at all. He doesn’t have to because he already has me where he wants me, in his place, in his bed. I try to placate Michael by spending every free minute at school with him and staying round his house for half an hour or so afterwards, but I get antsy when I know Justin is alone at the loft. It has to stop. I know that. But even when I have that talk with Ben and it makes me realize that my whole life revolves around Justin now, I can’t seem to stop.

Michael is getting downright nasty with Justin, but I ignore it. I’m not getting in the middle of that chick fight and neither does Justin, by the looks of it, because he barely ever has a retort for Michael. I know Michael is right. From the outside, it looks like Justin and I are in a relationship, even an exclusive one at that. But it’s just that he has self-image issues – which I have caused – so I can’t add to that by being out on my own all the time or tricking in front of him. Like I said, I like to pay my debts. If some small sacrifices on my part help him and make him happy, then I'll do that for as long as it takes.

At school, Michael and I are together every minute of the day and when he tells me that he's forgotten his lunch and needs to pick it up from the diner, there's no question that I won’t come along. And who do I find when we get there? Justin and fucking Filippo, all cozy together in one of the booths. Yeah, I know who the guy is, one of the nurses told me when I saw them kissing at New Year’s. Is that even legal between a physiotherapist and his patient? Although the hypocrisy of that question isn't lost on me. 

And suddenly I realize what an idiot I've been. All this time I've been trying to make Justin feel better and there he is, all better and ready to move on to the next. I can’t really blame him for that – after all, what he’s doing is only proving me right, about everything, about guys and monogamy and all feelings being fleeting. So he doesn’t need me anymore. That’s good. I can do what I want then. Finally.  

When we’re at Woody’s a couple of days later, I decide to live out my new-found freedom. The pickings are a little slim, but there's one guy who’s hot enough and he turns out to be a pretty good fuck, too. Justin completely ignores what just happened. Maybe he’s not quite sure that anything did happen, but it’s more likely that he simply doesn’t care. Why would he? He’s got someone else now.

Ted and Emmett glare at me as if I've committed a major crime. Of course, they do, they think Justin is a poor little innocent. If they only knew!  Just by the way he fucks you can tell that he’s not innocent. I should have paid more attention to that. Naturally, Ted and Emmett don’t know that, so they think that Justin doesn’t deserve to be treated so shabbily by big bad Brian. Idiots! At least, I don’t sneak around behind his back.

Only Michael is on my side, smiling at me approvingly. He knows that this is good for me and he must be relieved that I’ve finally found my way back to my old self. And he's also the one who encourages me when I want to go to Babylon the next week. Justin says he’s tired, but everybody assumes that it's because he still doesn’t like crowds, making me look like an uncaring cad. It's strange how he can convey these things without saying a word. Still with the innocent act. I won’t fall for that any longer. Let the others think what they like. He says he just wants to go home, but who knows where he’s really gonna go?

I start tricking pretty heavily, but then, I have a lot of time to make up for. And I stick to the rules. I always shower when I get home and I never take anyone to the loft. In fact, I’m hardly ever at the loft anymore. Justin comes home later nowadays, after eight, when the gallery closes. That gives me time to study and have something to eat and leave before he gets in.

I’m not always out tricking. A lot of the time I spend at Michael’s. Debbie has resigned herself to the fact that he goes to Woody’s and Babylon now, but he’s only allowed to do that three times a week. He likes to stick to that even when she’s not there and I think he prefers it when it’s just him and me. I don’t mind. I have a lot of time to make up for with him as well. Of course, I don’t tell Justin that. It’s none of his business how I spend my time. I don’t ask him what he does either. And I shower on principle, because if I don’t, I might as well tell him what I’ve been up to. Or not been up to in this case. I don’t want him to think that I’m so pathetic that I’m not getting any without him, not when he has someone on the side.

Michael is a little clingy at the moment and I’m thinking that things would probably be easier if he would get laid. He’s gonna be eighteen next month. He can’t become an adult and still be a virgin. Plus, it'll make him less cranky and take his focus off me a little. All he's done so far is get a couple of blowjobs. There was that one from Marsha what’s-her-name that he had to pay her five bucks for – that still creases me up. I’m surprised he could even get it up. And then there was one in the backroom and even then I was there getting my own dick sucked at the same time. It was a little weird because Michael kept looking over at me because he was so nervous and worried to be left there on his own. As if I would. But it was still weird. It was also several months ago.

So I ask him if he wants me to find him someone to fuck him or even for him to fuck them. But he doesn’t want to do that. I tell him that I know a few tops who would make it good for him. I reckon that if I can persuade an established top to bottom for me – and there have been quite a few of those – then he'll be soft enough to suit Michael’s needs, especially if I’m there as well. But he still doesn’t want to.

“So you’re gonna stay a virgin forever?” I ask him, lounging on his bed, looking through one of his comics.

“I just don’t want to lose my cherry in the backroom of Babylon, alright?”

He's such a hopeless romantic. Have I taught him nothing? I know that as soon as he’s got his first time over with, he'll be with me in the backroom all the time. We can be the dynamic duo, like Justin and I were last summer. That only lasted a few days, but it was so hot I still think about it, especially when I’m in the backroom. Only with Mikey it'll be less intense and more like fun.

“So what are you gonna do? Bring some guy here? Because I don’t think your mother would approve.” Although we could, if we found a day when she's on the graveyard shift. We’ve done lots of stuff she never found out about while she was at work. I’m just not sure how I would feel about being in this room with them while they're doing it and I have a feeling that Michael would want me to. I would have to bring a guy for myself. In that case, we have to make extra sure that Debbie never finds out because she would consider that an orgy and have my balls.

“I don’t want to do it with some stranger. Not the first time.”

Okaaay. What then? “What _do_ you want? Because I’m running out of ideas here.”

“I’ve heard horror stories about the first  time. If the guy isn’t careful, it can be really painful. That’s why I want my first time with someone who knows what it feels like.” He looks at me and I recognize that look. Whenever someone looks at me like that, I usually get laid. _Don’t say it, Mikey! Don’t say it!_ Then he lowers his eyes. “Like you.”

Fuck! He can't be serious! He's not supposed to say things like that! I thought we were back on track getting our old friendship back. I’ve been working hard on that – or maybe a little too hard.

“You can’t fuck your friends, Mikey. It never works.”

“How would you know? You’ve never fucked any of your friends. And it’s different with us. It’s just a favor. It changes nothing. We're best friends. Nothing will ever change that. I’m scared about my first time and I’m asking for your help. We always help each other, don’t we?”

Fuck, he's serious! What the fuck am I gonna do now? Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut about him getting laid?

“I’ll think about it.”

“Really?” He's beaming at me now. It's so easy to make Mikey happy. I wonder why I don’t do it more often. Because he’s right, we’ve always helped each other out, although it was more a case of him helping me out. _He_ never turned up at my house late at night, needing somewhere to stay and some painkillers. And he _always_ treats me well, is always happy to see me. Not like me, who treats him like shit sometimes.

So I do think about it. For a whole week. Michael doesn’t talk about it again, but I can see his impatience in his eyes every time we meet. Every morning when he climbs into the jeep to drive to school with me, he looks at me with those puppy dog eyes, half in anticipation and half in dread. And then his face falls when I don’t say anything.

I don’t know what to say to him. I'm worried that this will fuck us up completely. I’m not stupid, I know that this will mean more to him than it will to me. I love Mikey, I really do, but even if we weren’t friends, I wouldn't fuck him. He’s not my type. I think he’s cute and I think he’s great, but he doesn't exactly make me hard. Because if he did, we would have done this a long time ago. I’m not worried that I won’t be able to get it up. I can always get it up. Hell, I can get it up watching paint dry, but the general rule is that if a guy doesn’t make me want to fuck him when I look at him, I won’t fuck him. What would be the point?

So I already know that afterwards I won’t want to do it again. What if he does? What if he thinks that it somehow means something and pesters me for more? I can’t just tell him to fuck off, like I do with other guys. I don’t want him to fuck off. I want him to be my friend. I want our friendship to be like it is now. Only I can’t ask him what he expects for afterwards because then I would have to let on that I know he’s in love with me. And that could fuck up our friendship just as much. There's a reason we never acknowledge that.

What if he hates it? Okay, so I’m a great fuck and I have the experience to make it good. But what if he needs more than that? The only person who ever got more than great sex from me is Justin. And I still don’t know why or how that happened, how to duplicate that, if it's even possible. I don’t know why Justin sometimes seems satiated and languid and sometimes he's full of quiet joy after sex – or, come to think of it, why I'm like that sometimes as well. So I can’t give Michael that. I don’t know how. And if he hates it, how likely is it that our friendship will survive that?

But he's right. We're friends. I owe him to look out for him and help him if I can. He's done so much for me, how can I refuse him? In the grand scheme of my life, this is such a little thing. It’s not as if I don’t fuck guys all the time without a second thought, yet with my best friend I make such a fuss? That just means that I’m kinder to strangers than I am to him. What kind of a friend does that make me?

From a purely selfish point of view, being Mikey's first just means that our bond will be so much stronger. I'll always be there when he has sex, because he's the type who'll reminisce about such things to his dying day. And he'll be grateful to me for doing him this favor. It may make the difference between him dumping my ass when he falls in love with someone else or staying my friend.

There's also the possibility that he'll be disappointed and angry if I don’t do it. He'll feel let down. He's asking me a favor and if I’m turning him down for no good reason, that may break us anyway. And the more time passes, the harder it is to say no. I wonder if he'll just forget about it if I don’t say anything, like ever. But I don’t think it will be that easy.

I don’t often feel lost, but I do now. The arguments for doing it are stronger than the arguments against. I think. But I can’t shift the uneasiness I feel whenever I think about it. I can’t talk to Mikey about it for obvious reasons and I can’t make up my mind by myself. So that leaves only Justin. He has a stronger moral compass than I, but I haven’t really spent much time with him recently, just hours and hours of fucking after I get home. And even that's different now. Well, how can it not be, when he also gets his kicks somewhere else? He never moans out my name anymore in that special way that he has, no matter how long I fuck him for.

So I go home when I know he’s home and what does he do? He starts an argument with me, talking about ground rules. Again. I thought we already had those. I've been sticking to them religiously. Has he? And then he tells me he won’t come out with us anymore. He says it’s because he doesn’t want to see me trick, but it's also suspiciously convenient for him, isn’t it? If I’m out and he doesn’t come along, then he’s free to do whatever he wants in that time. Or whomever he wants.

I spend a few days trying not to think at all. I go out to Babylon and trick, then go home and fuck Justin into the mattress and nothing gets resolved. Now neither one of my friends is really talking to me. And whenever I try to make a decision about Mikey, Justin’s voice sounds in my head. ‘ _I just don’t want to see it_.’ Why would it bother him if he has someone else? Why would it bother him under any circumstances, because we're not exclusive, never were and never will be. But why would it bother him, _especially_ when he has someone else? I can’t get my head around that. And it’s stopping me from making a decision about Mikey, who's talking less and less to me as well. This can’t go on.

So I go back to my original plan, talking to Justin about it. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong about Filippo anyway. Because Justin isn't the type to have two guys on the go at the same time. If he's seeing this physiotherapist, then why am I even here still? Surely he'd have wanted to clear the air by now.

I can’t just blurt out all my thoughts to him, so I need to spend some time with him and find the right moment. For now, I only want to hear his thoughts on Mikey. Talking about the Filippo thing can wait, indefinitely for all the desire I have to actually talk about it. Having questions doesn’t mean you have to ask them.

I make my way to the gallery to pick him up one night, but when I get there, I see him leaving with Filippo, talking animatedly. He never talks to me like that anymore. I don’t know why I'm surprised to see them together. It’s not as if I didn’t know and I can understand even less why it makes me so angry. But at least, it makes my decision for me. I can’t lose them both.

Now all I have to decide is where we should do it. There's something about fucking Mikey in his bedroom that creeps me out. It’s like it’s gonna spoil all the memories we have there. Plus, it may be awkward to be in that room afterwards. So I'm thinking of the loft. Only that creeps me out even more. The loft is Justin’s place. Or Justin’s and mine. It seems wrong somehow to do it there. Even worse than Mikey's room, especially as it’s against the rules. And we have to make extra sure that Justin won’t disturb us. Because Mikey would hate that. And Justin would freak out. Hell, I would hate it.

The very next morning, I talk to Justin about it, knowing very well what he's going to say. But I’m still full of anger from seeing him with that guy, so I’m rather enjoying it. Because I know he’s hurt. And then he picks apart all my arguments when I haven’t even told him any of them. He tells me that this is just plain wrong, that not only have I got it wrong, but that Mikey shouldn't have asked that of me. That's not something that has occurred to me before. I never questioned that Mikey knows what he’s doing. How can he be wrong? He’s the nice one, with friends and a mother who loves him. Surely he wouldn’t have asked me if he couldn’t handle it.

Then, just as I reach the door, Justin shoots a bolt from the blue. ‘ _And you would lose me_ ’. Now _that_ never occurred to me either. I knew he would hate it, but not that he'd feel this strongly about it. And I know that he does because he says it in that steely voice that he has. He's drawing another line, one that he won’t let me cross without consequences. Only, he should know that I don’t like ultimatums.

Mikey climbs into the jeep with just a murmured ‘morning’. I look at him and wait until he finally looks at me. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Really?” His whole face lights up. “When?”

“Tonight. Might as well get it out of the way.” Debbie's on late shift this week, so we’ll have the house to ourselves until ten o’clock. The loft is out of the question after the conversation I just had with Justin. Just as well, the idea never sat right with me anyway. I look over to Michael and he seems incredibly upset. What is it now? I said I’d do it.

“What?”

“ _Get it out of the way?_ We might as well forget it if that’s how you feel about it.”

“Okay. Let’s go with picking a nice guy for you.”

“No!…No, I want you to do it… You said you would.”

Yeah, that would have been too easy, although, for a second there, I had my hopes up.

“Okay, after school then.”

“Okay.”

Michael is quiet all day, shooting me furtive glances in class and at lunch. He smiles at me a lot, which is what he always does, but it’s a little creepy when he doesn’t say anything with it. The drive home is silent as well and when we get into his house, we stand in the living room for a bit, not quite knowing what to do.

“Go and have a shower,” I say finally and he looks at me aghast. “It’ll make you feel better. I’ll have one after you.” Fuck, doesn’t he know anything?

“We could shower together,” he says in a small voice.

“In your bathtub shower? I don’t think so. Don’t worry, I won’t run off while you’re in there.” I’ve never showered with anyone but Justin and somehow it doesn’t feel right to do that with Michael. Or anybody else for that matter.

And there's Justin again. In my head. He has been there all day, which is strange because shouldn’t I be thinking about Michael? I’m sure he thought about nothing but me all day. Which is probably normal for him anyway. I wonder if he’s scared. Because I am.

Fuck, where did that come from? I’ve never been scared of a fuck. Not even of my first one, which was pretty forgettable. I wonder if Justin was scared the first time. Maybe Daphne was his first time, although that doesn’t really count. He probably lost his cherry to some loving, caring boyfriend who was incredibly worried about hurting him. Good for him.

Why am I thinking about Justin while I’m sitting on Michael's bed, watching the smoke rings I’m blowing? I've been hearing his voice all day. ‘ _You shouldn’t have sex for any other reason than that you want to. Ever_ ’. Well, Michael certainly does.  ‘ _Please, don’t do this to yourself, Brian._ ’ Not ‘ _don’t do this to Michael_ ’ or even ‘ _don’t do this to me_ ’, no, it was ‘ _don’t do this to yourself_ ’. What the fuck did he mean by that? I’m not doing anything other than what I do every day, fucking. He’s always so fucking concerned about me.

What's taking Michael so long? I heard the shower go off about five minutes ago. 

This is not a room I would ever have associated with fucking. It still has the kids’ wallpaper and curtains up that Debbie bought him ten years ago. He told me how excited he was when Vic put them up for his seventh birthday. They’ll probably still be up by the time he’s thirty. And all his toys are out. Fuck, this is really the worst place for this.

When Michael comes in, his hair is wet, but he's fully dressed. He looks at me for a long time without saying a word, just standing in the doorway. And this must be the first time in my life that I’m actually hoping that a guy will tell me he doesn’t want me to fuck him. Then he smiles timidly and comes over to sit next to me. Things were never this awkward between us, not even when we didn’t know each other all that well. We really need to move this along.

“I’ll go and have a shower. You might want to get undressed because this isn't gonna work with clothes on.”

He gives an embarrassed laugh, while I make my way to the bathroom.

I’ve been showering in this house for three years, so I know that the water will run cold very quickly, which means I don’t have much time for one last think about this. And, yes, right on cue, there's Justin in my head again. ‘ _Don’t do this to yourself, Brian_ ’. Fuck. This isn't about me. Okay, I’ll let fate decide then. If Michael's got undressed when I get into his room, that means that he really wants this and I’ll do it. If he’s still in his clothes, I tell him the deal's off and go home.

I dry my hair with the towel and run my hands through it, so that it won’t stick out in all directions later. Then I sling a towel around my hips and pick up my clothes. Always be prepared for a quick getaway.

Michael's already in bed when I get there, naked from what I can see.

Okaaay.

I kick the door shut behind me.

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

 

**PART  TWENTY**

Needless to say that I'm not at my best at work today. After Brian left, I was tempted to call in sick, but I've never taken a sick day because of my personal life and I won’t start now. Plus, Sidney is not here today and I know he's relying on me. That's what he pays me for, after all. Luckily, we're busy today. We're in the middle of preparing for a new exhibition, which is due to open in a fortnight.

But it's not enough to distract me. Brian and Michael together is all I can think about. It’s like the proverbial train crash. You know it’s going to happen, but there's nothing you can do to stop it. It’s just lucky that I don’t have to actually watch it. Not that I don’t see it in my head all day anyway.

I know that this is the end. The fact that Brian has sex with me is the only advantage I ever had over Michael. If I lose that, there's nothing left that makes me special. And I know that I won’t get over it. This is not something that I can tolerate, nor should I have to. The very thought makes me feel physically ill with jealousy and pain. It hurts too much and I will never forget it. It will always be there between us, even if Brian did want to come back to me afterwards.

The thing is that I don’t think he will. It will bring home to him that he can have it all with Michael, the friendship, the love and the sex. Why would he want anyone other than Michael and the tricks? And with Michael feeling the way he does about Brian, he will do his hardest to hang on to him. Who could blame him?

I can see them embarking on a relationship. It'll be dysfunctional and painful, but that's not that much different from what Brian and I have, is it? What we're doing is not exactly sane and healthy either. But Michael is not like me. He can't rationalize Brian’s behavior, he just reacts emotionally the whole time. If he didn’t, we wouldn’t be in this situation.

I don’t blame Michael at all. He loves Brian. He wants to be with him and, for now, he just wants what everybody else has. Just this once. I can’t help but feel sorry for him that he's in so much pain that he's willing to put up with getting hurt even more, so that he can have what he’s been dreaming of. He's risking their friendship, although I'm sure he doesn’t know it. Three years is a long time to be around someone you love, watching him be with other people all the time. I'm not surprised that he's getting desperate. Especially since now Brian seems to have a relationship of sorts that must feel threatening to Michael.

I understand what he's doing. He wants to have this, even if it kills him. Anybody who’s ever been in love should be able to relate. And I know that he's also hoping that it will be a turning point, that  Brian will suddenly realize that he wanted Michael all along. It is, after all, what Brian's been leading him to believe all this time, for whatever reason. And isn’t that what I’ve been doing as well since the accident? Taking advantage of his guilt to create a more conventional relationship, hoping that Brian will realize that this is what he really wants? Sometimes I was even deluding myself that he enjoyed it.

And who is to say that Michael isn’t right? Brian might well find that being with him _is_ what he wants. And then they will destroy each other. I don’t think that my conviction that a relationship between those two would never work has been wishful thinking all along. Brian won't give up tricking for anyone because it's part of his self-image. He _needs_ to trick to boost his confidence. That's the only reason I'm willing to put up with it. I can see it for what it is. Michael can’t. He's not dreaming of just sex with Brian, be it once or a hundred times. He's not even dreaming of a relationship like I have with Brian. No, Michael wants Brian to himself. He needs that as much as Brian needs to trick and that impasse will screw it all up for them. 

Brian's too damaged to see that he should be careful not to hurt Michael and Michael isn't strong enough to withstand Brian when he's acting out. Oh, he will never give him up, but it will kill him. In the end, they won’t even be friends anymore. And then what will Brian do? Michael has friends and a mother who loves him and he will eventually pick up the pieces and be whole again. Brian won’t.

I don’t blame Brian either. Like Daphne said, he has a very poor support system. He's relying on Michael to see to all his emotional needs, which is a heavy burden to place on a kid that age and quite unfair in light of how Michael feels about him. Not that Brian is even aware that he's doing that. Brian, for all his intelligence, isn't very self-aware. I could see this morning how reluctant he was to go through with this. In fact, I suspect that the only reason he asked for undisturbed time in the loft was so that he could bring up the subject. Maybe he even wanted me to stop him. I tried my best, but I don’t think it was enough. The train was already too far down the tracks.

I can’t help but feel a little guilty. If I hadn’t come along, nothing would have disturbed the balance of Brian’s and Michael's relationship. They probably would have coasted along like this for another dozen years or so. But here I am and I scared Michael into desperation and Brian's not mature enough yet to say no. They're both governed by fear at the moment. If this had happened a few years down the line, they might have been able to negotiate it with a few minor hiccups instead of a huge fucking disaster.

Whenever Brian hurts me, I always remember Daphne telling me that he's vulnerable. I know he doesn’t look it, but I know by now that this is true. Sometimes he's so easily manipulated by playing on his fears, it's painful to watch. I'm very careful not to do that myself because my goal has always been to assuage those fears and make him open up. And it's frightening to see him when he’s open – beautiful but frightening – because he's so vulnerable then, that it feels like one wrong move, gesture or word would kill him inside.

So now we're in this fucked-up situation. Both Michael and Brian are scared to death of what's happening to their relationship and it makes them do something that, instead of making it stronger, will, in time, break them apart. And I'm scared to death of losing Brian. If he decides to be with Michael after this, then there's nothing I can do. That's almost the best case scenario because it absolves me from all blame. I can't force Brian to be with me and I can't be expected to be there for him when it all falls apart. Not that he would even think of asking me to because, by that time, he'll have forgotten that I ever existed.

But if he doesn’t stay with Michael afterwards, I'll still not be there for him. Because I won't be able to if he sleeps with Michael. I know my own limitations. Sex with Michael is different from the tricks, because the tricks don’t mean anything and Michael does. Even if I tried to forgive and forget, I can’t. I know this. It would destroy me. I could try to be with him, but the pain and betrayal would eat away at me and it would break out at the most unexpected and inopportune moments and I would hurt him. I’m only human. It would never work and it'll be better to take the pain of letting him go now, than to live through the sheer hell of being with him under those circumstances. Hell for both of us.

Only, what will he do then? There'll be no more Michael to catch him. And this is actually the first time that I wish that I'd never met Brian. Not for me, because I will always cherish the time that I had with him, but for him, because I fear that he won't come out of this intact. I wish I was stronger, but I’m not. This is where I'm drawing my line. I love him, but I can't be with a guy who would willingly risk what we have after I told him that he'll lose me if he goes ahead with this. If I mean that little to him, there's no point in continuing and I just have to face that. I'm also beginning to wonder if I've misjudged Brian. I always thought that underneath everything, he's a deeply moral person, who just has different rules from everyone around him, but if he can't see that this is wrong, or he doesn’t care, then maybe I was mistaken. 

The day drags on slowly. It's filled with petty mistakes on my part and curious looks from the two floor assistants I work with. Luckily, they don’t know me well enough yet to ask what’s wrong with me. I spend my whole lunch break sitting in my office, trying not to imagine Brian and Michael having sex. It's proving impossible. 

To top it all off, it's raining heavily when I get out of work. Brian's still using the jeep because the gallery is a shorter distance away from the loft than his school is and because it's nice to see how much enjoyment he gets out of it. It's early closing at the gallery today, so I get home shortly after six o’clock. Wednesday is usually the day when we actually see each other before he goes out, although today he's not here, nor does it look like he's been here before I got in. How could he be? He’s with Michael, isn’t he?

I actually hesitate in the doorway for a moment after I slide the door open, listening for noises from the bedroom. I don’t think that Brian would simply ignore my objections and bring Michael here anyway. However, you can never be absolutely certain of anything with him. But, thankfully, I'm alone – as I will be every night from now on.

I decide to take a shower and then I just stand by the window and look out, waiting for the inevitable. I'm not looking out for him, because I can't actually see the street from here. In fact, I can't see anything because I'm sightless at the moment, with my mind supplying an imagery that I wish I could switch off.

A knock on the door startles me out of my reverie. It feels like I've been here for hours, but when I look at the clock, it has only been twenty minutes. Time has crawled to a standstill. I'm not in the mood for visitors and I only answer the door because people who actually make it past the security door downstairs, never go away. It’s a fact of life.

When I pull the door back, I see Filippo standing there. Not at all whom I expected, although I’m not sure whom I actually did expect.

“Hi,“ he says with that disarming smile that he has.

“Hi.”

“Is this a bad time?”

“Kind of.”

“I can see that. You look like death warmed over.”

I snort a mirthless laugh at that and make an inviting gesture, sliding the door shut after him.

“Nice place,” he says, taking a look around before focusing on me. “So what’s up?”

I just shake my head. I cannot, will not and do not want to talk about it. If I did, I would have called Daphne by now.

“Let me guess: Brian.”

“Brilliant deduction,” I grouse at him, unfairly, because none of this is his fault. But really, when has it ever _not_ been about Brian when I've been upset since Filippo’s known me?

“Justin. Don’t let him do this to you all the time.” He steps closer to me and puts out his hand, but I retreat a few steps.

I'm not ready to be consoled. Brian and I are over. My last hope was finding him here after work, alone, and him telling me that he didn’t go through with it. But as he's not here, he's obviously with Michael and whatever Brian envisions for him and me after that, I know that it won’t happen.

I suppose that, in the end, I will let Filippo take some of the pain away. He might not be the real thing and it's unlikely that we will last, but he's a warm body and he knows the score, so I wouldn't be deceiving him. I will have to go back to meaningless relationships with guys who really just stop me from being alone, but not yet. Not before Brian and I have talked. And not here. This place will be Brian’s and mine for a long time to come, even without him here. And, fuck, where's Brian going to go? I haven’t thought about that before. Well, maybe things will go well with Michael long enough that he can stay there until he can move into the dorms at the university after the summer.

My thoughts are cut off because that's the moment that Brian chooses to return home. He looks wet, as if he had a recent shower, which pretty much tells me all I need to know, but his clothes are wet, too. Didn't he take the car this morning? I didn’t notice it outside when I came home, and I would have because I was pinning my hopes on it.

And then something curious happens as I look at Brian and Filippo glaring at each other across the loft. It's like little cogs in my brain slot into place and suddenly form a picture that was hidden until now. I see myself sitting in the diner with Filippo for lunch and him drawing my attention to Brian coming in. And I hear Brian’s voice in full snark mode: ‘ _I let you get on with your session_ ’. Session. Not talk or conversation. Session.

“How did you know Brian when we were at the diner?”

Filippo’s head turns to me sharply and if there ever was an expression of guilt, it's there on his face.

“Justin,” he says pleadingly, taking a step towards me, making me step back further – a lot further.

“How did you know Brian? I never showed you any pictures of him. So how did you know what he looks like?”

“I saw him before.” 

I'm almost hoping that he'll tell me that they fucked at Babylon, because anything else would just be too hurtful. “ _Obviously_. Where?”

“The hospital.”

I look over to Brian to confirm it and, for once, he looks almost as uncomfortable as Filippo does. I'd have thought that he would enjoy a showdown, he usually does. He meets my eyes steadily, but that's all. There's no nod, no smile, nothing.

I look back at Filippo. “Brian was at the hospital? When?”

The silence stretches and stretches until my frayed nerves make me shout. “WHEN?” I don’t care which one of them answers me, as long as one of them does.

“Every night. He was there every night. I saw him there one night and the nurses told me.”

I look at Brian and he remains stone-faced, pulling in his lips and staring at nothing in particular. I turn back to Filippo.

“Every night? You knew that Brian was there every night and you listened to me being upset over not seeing him, and even wondering if he was dead, and you never said a word?”

“I thought it was for the best. He's not good for you, Justin. Who wouldn't visit their partner in hospital? Especially after being the cause of the accident. He abandoned you, Justin! He didn’t have the guts to face you. What does that tell you about him?”

“That’s between him and me. What this tells me about _you_ is that you’re no friend of mine. That you’d rather see me suffer than make me feel better with a few simple words just because it suits your own purposes. So I would like you to leave! And if you ever see me anywhere, anywhere at all, _do_ cross the street to avoid me.”

“Justin, I… “

“Now,” Brian says from the door. It's not particularly loud or emotional, but quietly menacing.

Filippo looks like he wants to say something else, then thinks better of it and slinks out the door. Brian gives a little fingertip wave to his back before he shuts it.

I think I might pass out. This is too much. I can't cope with this today of all days. He was there! Every night! And no one told me!  Least of all Brian. What is going on in that fucked-up brain of his? But when Brian turns around to look at me, I forget all about that. Just one look tells me that something went terribly wrong with Michael. I'm just hoping and praying that it was _before_.

 

*******

 

I put my clothes on the floor next to Michael's bed and sit down on it. He's looking at me with big eyes, obviously a little scared. I’ve fucked a few virgins before, though not recently because you don’t find any of those at Babylon. Virgins are always a little scared and I find that vaguely off-putting.

Naturally, it's different with Mikey. Everything's different with Mikey. Because Mikey is not just a fuck. _'You will lose him’._ Fuck, Justin's in my thoughts again. I put my hand on the sheet to pull it back. Justin’s voice is almost screaming now, _‘And you will lose me.’_ – and I stop in mid-motion. I've been hearing him in my head all day, but this is the first time that I've allowed myself to think about the last thing he said to me. Suddenly, that one sentence is pushing itself to the forefront with an urgency that makes me realize that it's more important than everything else he said, if only because it sums up everything in a single ‘you'll fuck up your whole life’. I feel a cold fear gripping me. It's indistinct but no less overwhelming for that. 

What seemed like an ultimatum this morning – that I've tried my hardest to ignore because no one tells me what to do or not to do – now seems like a desperate attempt to prevent me from jumping off that cliff. I always knew he wouldn’t jump with me but rather hang on to me for as long as he could. But he'll let go if I don’t listen to him. Because Justin is his own man. I've pushed him a lot since we met. I can’t help it, it’s in my nature. He never pushes back, but occasionally he puts up a barrier to stop me. _No further_. I've learned to recognize it in his voice and I know that when he draws a line in the sand and I cross it, it can never be un-crossed. 

I reach down to pick up my shirt and start putting it on.

“What are you doing?” Michael sounds confused and apprehensive.

“I’m going home.”

“What? Why? _After all this?_ You promised!”

“After all this?” I sneer. “This is nothing. It’s not as if you’ve never seen me naked before. If you think this is something, then you’re really not ready for this.” I know I'll lose him.  I just know it, but I can’t let him see how scared I am of that. That's not what Michael and I are about. I’m the one in control, always.

“I _am_ ready.” He’s sitting up now and he would get up if he wasn’t naked. “Do you want to do this another time then?” There's so much hope in his voice that it hurts and makes me angry at the same time. How can he be such a doormat? If I were in his position, I would have started insulting me by now.

There is silence when I drop my towel to put my underwear and pants on.

Then: “You can’t get it up? Is that it?” Finally, an insult.

“I can always get it up, Mikey.” I bend down to put my socks on and wish I could shut up or just say something nice or comforting. If I were to let him believe that I can’t get it up, would he be sympathetic rather than angry? He would probably view it as one more thing that binds us together. A secret between us. But I couldn’t bear for him to think that of me, even if it were true. He thinks I’m the greatest guy that ever lived. If he loses that, then he will find someone else to fill that void. And if I’m gonna lose him anyway, I don’t want him going round spreading stuff like that about me.

Or he will try to prove me wrong. I couldn’t bear him touching me or me touching him – not that way. I want him to hug me and kiss me and tell me that he will always love me. That we're best friends. That nothing has changed or ever will.

And I can’t tell him the truth, that, when it comes down to it, I'm more afraid of losing Justin than I am of losing him. That would surely finish us for good. And this right here will do the same. Getting this far and then not going through with it is worse than saying no in the first place. And yet going through with it is impossible. I just can’t.

“So you can fuck all of Liberty Avenue, but you can’t fuck me? Why is that, Brian?”

Because of what Justin said. And he said it in such a way that losing him as well sounded like just an afterthought, like there were a million more important reasons not to do this. Reasons for my benefit and even Michael's and losing Justin would just be a minor inconvenience to me. Which leads me to believe that he's right and that he's really worried about Michael and me. Because that's who he is.

I will lose Michael, I know it. Ah well, it was great while it lasted. Nothing lasts forever, not when it's based on feelings, but I can't let Michael think that he has the upper hand.

“I’m tired of sorting your life out for you. Go and find your own stud to take your cherry.”

“Brian.” He sounds incredulous. And upset. “Why are you doing this? I thought you loved me?”

“Always have and always will.” It sounds hollow even to me.

“Then why can’t you do this for me?”

“It’s not that I can’t, it’s that I won’t.” Finally, I’ve got all my clothes on and look around for my schoolbag until I remember that I left it downstairs. I make my way to the door.

“You know what?” Michael almost shouts before I can quite get there. “I really hate you.”

In all my life, I've never been so relieved to hear a door shut behind me.

 

It takes me nearly two hours to get home. When I walk past the diner, I wish that I could go in and have a coffee and just think. But Debbie is there and she'll ask about Michael because she always does. She thinks we’re joined at the hip and no matter what I say, she'll know that there's something wrong.

Fuck! I’m just realizing that, if Justin kicks me out, I'll have nowhere to go. Debbie won’t take me in, not now that Michael and I are finished, not to mention that it would be awkward living there. But wasn’t one of the reasons that I didn’t go through with it, so that Justin _won’t_ kick me out? Only, now I have to rely on him letting me live there until after the summer, until I can move into the dorms at Pitt. Which means that he can set any condition he likes and I'll have to abide by it. That's just fucked.

It's raining heavily now and suddenly I remember that the jeep is still at Debbie’s house, so I double back to get it. 

The lights are already on in the loft, telling me that Justin's home. Of course, it's Wednesday today, early closing at the gallery. Fuck, I was hoping for some recovery time on my own. I should have gone straight home before Justin got in. Why was I walking about in the rain all this time? How melodramatic of me!

I pull the door open and the first thing I see is fucking Filippo. Great! Today of all days, Justin decides to come clean. What the fuck am I gonna do now? It doesn’t look like I’ve interrupted anything because Justin is standing several feet away from his guest and Filippo just turns to glare at me as if he has a right to be here and I’m the intruder. Maybe I am and just don’t know it yet.

But Justin has other things on his mind. He asks Filippo how he knows me. As far as I’m aware, the guy met me for the first time in the diner, but apparently not and _oh fuck!_ he’s seen me at the hospital. To be frank, I always wondered how I got away with that one. Several nurses saw me there every night. It was just sheer dumb luck that none of them ever told him.

When Justin shouts out his question I’m not sure if he’s asking me or him. _I’m_ not gonna tell him because then I would also have to tell him the reason why I was there and I don’t want to talk about that or even think about how I was feeling during that time. I’m praying that Filippo has only seen me once or twice, but, of course, he knows the whole story and doesn’t hesitate to blurt it out.

Big mistake! I didn’t know how worried Justin was about me and that he even thought I might be dead, until he came home and told me, but if Filippo spent time with him every day, then he must have known. Even to me, it seems kind of cruel not to say anything under those circumstances. Of course, he wanted to get into Justin’s pants and it was better for him that Justin thought I never showed up.

Justin tells him to get out and I could tell Filippo just by the tone alone that nothing he could say will ever make any difference from here on in. Of course, the guy's way too stupid to get the message and I feel the need to reinforce it a little. I'm quite willing to back it up with his physical removal from the loft because it's been a long fucked-up day and throwing him down the stairs would be very satisfying.

Then Justin and I are alone and I remember what happened today. He looks at me for a moment and then he rushes over and puts his arms around my waist. He fits perfectly, he always does. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and bury my face in his hair, breathing deeply.

The sheer relief nearly makes my knees buckle. Looks like he’s not going to kick me out just yet. But that's just a fleeting thought. What is more, is that I feel overwhelmed when I think of how close I came to fucking this up. How could I be stupid enough to risk this? This feeling that I have whenever he’s close to me. This feeling that everything makes sense somehow when he’s around. 

“What happened?” he asks, moving back a bit, so he can look into my face.

I stare over his head into space. I can’t look at him. I don’t want to talk about it, but I know that, for once, I don’t have much choice in the matter. I have to give him the bare facts at least.    

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” I shoot him a glance and look away again, just checking to see how he’s taking it and if I’ve said enough. I won’t utter a single syllable more than I absolutely must. Please, let it be enough! I did what he wanted, didn’t I? Surely that's all he needs to know.

“I need a little more, Brian. Just this once, please.”

Of course, he does. He doesn’t know what it’s like. I just lost my best friend, my only friend and the only place I've ever felt safe. Except here. And except that Justin's kind of my best friend nowadays. But I thought Michael would always be there. I can't talk about this. I can't. I roll in my lips and bite on them because, to my complete mortification, I can feel my eyes water. I will not cry. If I do, I'll have to leave here as well and I have nowhere to go. I can't stay here if I let him see me cry. That's not how we work.

I put my head on Justin’s shoulder and he puts his hand on my neck, stroking up into my hair. Somehow it helps. I manage to take a long breath and the moment is gone. 

“I told him I'd do it and then I didn’t.” I don’t even know if he can hear me because my head's still buried in his shoulder.

“What did he say?” He keeps stroking my hair and his other hand has moved to the side of my neck and is just resting there, warm and soft. Quietly comforting.

“That he hates me.”

“Oh God.”

“You said he would hate me if I do it, and now he hates me anyway.”

“Give him time, Brian. He's hurt right now. But this is something he can get past. Having sex with you isn’t.”

“You don’t know that.” I lift my head and look at him, crisis over. “You can’t know that.”

He smiles softly. “No, I don’t know that for certain. But just this once, will you listen to your elders? He's just scared of losing you. That’s why he asked you in the first place. And you were just as… you wanted to do that for him. What made you change your mind?”

I poke my tongue into my cheek and smirk at him. “Well, Debbie will throw me out if she ever finds out I fucked her baby boy and you threatened to do the same. So where was I supposed to go? I’d be homeless. No fuck's worth that.”

“Good point. Now what’s the real reason?”

I shrug. “It felt wrong.”

He smiles at me as if I passed some kind of test. Sometimes he can be incredibly condescending. 

“Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.” I try not to let it show how relieved I am that this conversation is over.

“Good. I’ll make something. And you should get changed. You're soaked and I always feel like a pervert when you’re wearing your school clothes.”

“You love it,” I smirk, knowing that it’s not true. If there's one thing that's bothering Justin about us, it’s my age. I make my way into the bedroom while he goes into the kitchen to get the food ready. Only now do I become aware of how my clothes are sticking to me in large wet patches. I hang up my school jacket to dry because I only have one of those and go to put the rest of my clothes in the hamper in the bathroom. When I come back out, I look over to the kitchen.

Justin is chopping some vegetables, but he looks up as if he can feel my eyes on him. His movements falter, and then he puts the knife down and comes walking over to me slowly, shedding his clothes along the way. I love that about him, that he's always on the same page as me. By the time he gets to me, he's naked and we're both hard.

And I love how he kisses me. It’s different from anybody else – not that I kiss that many other guys anymore, not on the mouth anyway. And then we’re on the bed and he's moving all over my body with his hands and his lips until I end up on my stomach while he's running his tongue along my spine. The anticipation of getting rimmed makes me want to hump the mattress, but I force myself to keep still and let him take over. All I do is reach over to the bedside table and hand him the lube and a condom. Last time, it was meant as a conciliation. This time, I'm hoping he's willing to do this for me. I need to let go just this once, need to know that there's someone in my life who will keep me safe, who will _want_ to keep me safe and who makes me feel that he can.

Justin is gentler than anybody has ever fucked me before. It’s not normally my thing, but tonight I love the slow and leisurely pace. There's nothing tentative or unsure about it. He's simply taking care of me and he knows all my sensitive spots. Fucking a guy more than once does have its good points, after all.

Afterwards, he's pressed against my back and I’m glad that he's not looking at me, when he starts talking. “So, you were there every night?” It's said quietly and maybe even with a touch of amusement.

I shrug. I don’t want to talk about this either, although it was never likely that he would let me get away with that. But if we have to talk about it, this is good. I’m pleasantly relaxed and he's not demanding any great explanations. I hope.

“Why did you come only at night? Did you really think I blamed you for the accident? It wasn't your fault, Brian.”

I shrug again.

“Was it because of the nightmares?”

How the fuck does he know about them? I had some minor nightmares since he’s come home, just bad dreams really, compared to what went on before, mostly not even related to the accident. I’ve always had those, since I was little. Of course, he would know about that, although he never said anything. I just always found myself with his arms wrapped around me when I woke up from any of those. He rubs his hand over my stomach and kisses me under my shoulder blade, just there, where I like it.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I say finally because sometimes he deserves more, I just can't always give it to him. “I needed to see that you were okay.”

“Thank you,” he says and bites me gently in the same spot. I’m not sure if he's thanking me for coming to see him or for answering his question. It doesn’t matter because when he does that, he’s just asking to be fucked into the mattress and he knows it.

 

I wait in the jeep outside Michael's house for five minutes the next day before Debbie comes out to tell me that he's sick for the day.

“I suppose you won’t tell me what you did either?” she says and looks at me in that scrutinizing way that she has.

“How can him being sick be anything that I’ve done?” I grouse.

“I meant both of you, honey.”

I look at her and I can see that she’s just worried. Well, that'll change if she ever finds out what happened. Then she'll be out for my blood. “Nothing happened, Debbie.”

“Uh-huh. Make sure you bring him his homework. Now, hurry up or you’ll be late.”

At school, I try and get used to this being my life from now on. Life without Michael. It’s hard enough when he’s not actually here. I’m dreading what it'll be like when he is.

Michael doesn’t return to school on Friday either and I hand Debbie his homework when she comes out to tell me in the morning. She's looking really worried by now.

I spend the weekend indoors, which I haven’t done for quite a while now. Justin and I just fuck a lot and talk a lot, but there are no more awkward conversations. Only once does he start telling me about Filippo, but I cut him off by kissing him and he soon gets the message. I don’t wanna hear about that guy. It’s in the past and I never felt any great need to talk about such things. What’s the point of stirring it up, once it’s done? Although I must admit that the way he started the conversation – by saying ‘nothing happened with Filippo, you know’ – did make me feel better.

On Monday morning, I don’t have to wait outside Michael's house because he comes out almost as soon as I pull up. Debbie is standing in the doorway, giving him a gentle push, and nodding to me as if she's handing him over into my care. I give her a brief smile. Michael doesn’t look at me when he climbs into the car and he doesn’t say anything.

When we're halfway to school, the silence is getting to me. “Laura Ashton broke up with her boyfriend on Thursday.  Apparently, she found him fucking Suzie Myers in the changing rooms after school.”

There's a longish pause. Then: “So she doesn’t know yet that he’s been banging Carla Delaney all this time as well?”

“And Corey Nestor.”

His laugh sounds a little strained. “He has not! You’re making that up. You think everybody’s gay. Not everyone comes over to the dark side, you know.”

“Mikey, how often do I have to tell you, the breeders _are_ the dark side. We’re the Jedi. And we have the light sabers to prove it.”

He laughs again, a little more relaxed this time. “Okay. As long as I can be Luke Skywalker.”

“Suits me. Harrison Ford was way hotter anyway.”

And that, apparently, is that. What happened on Wednesday will be something that we never talk about again, one of those unspoken agreements between us. When I stop by his house after school to help him with his homework, the only thing that's different is that we stay in the kitchen, pretending that it's easier to do it down here because there's a decent table to write on. But in time that'll change, too, and his bedroom will no longer be off limits. That's how things work with us.

When Debbie comes in, just before it's time for me to go home, she grouses about how we ate all the potato chips, but when she walks past us, she runs her hand over my hair. I decide to ignore it.

I'm just in time to pick Justin up from the gallery. He smiles tentatively at me and when I smile back, his smile gets broader and more genuine. This is another thing I love about Justin, that I don’t have tell him everything, that he knows instinctively that everything is all right with Michael and doesn’t feel the need to drag every last detail out of me or – God help me! – wants me to talk about my feelings. 

The exuberance I've been feeling all day translates itself into a need to fuck Justin up against the door and then again on the couch before we even order dinner. We shower and then eat Thai food in front of the TV. I should be writing an essay, but it’s not due in until Wednesday and I’ve already done the outline for it. Tomorrow will be soon enough. Tonight I want to enjoy myself.

Sometimes, staying in and watching TV with Justin makes me feel antsy. It’s too much like my parents’ life, just without the violence and the alcohol. Maybe that’s one of the reasons we never get to finish watching any programs and always end up fucking. But sometimes it's just nice and relaxing. I’m not even sure what we’re watching, something weird-ass, where one of the characters is a tall blue woman, who's currently talking to what appears to be a puppet. The main character is kinda hot though. Justin tells me it’s a classic and that he’s thinking about getting the DVDs.

“For your birthday?” I ask nonchalantly. I've been trying to bring this up for a while without downright asking. In general, I don’t do birthdays. They're stupid and pointless and I never minded that they were barely acknowledged in our house. Not really. Mom always said that it makes you haughty to have too much attention bestowed on you. But I want to do something nice for him because… I want to.

Justin has migrated to sitting between my legs with his back to my chest, which I may have encouraged a little by pulling on his sleeve at the beginning of the show, when all I really wanted was for him to pass me my cigarettes. I let him stay there because it’s much more convenient to start the next fuck from this position and I kinda like playing with his hair. It also means that I can now feel him tense a little.

“How do you know when my birthday is?”

I chuckle. “Why? Is it a secret?”

“No, of course not. I just didn’t know you were paying attention.”

“I always pay attention.”

He chuckles. “Yes, I believe you do.” Then he turns more serious. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. Would you… I would like to go away for the weekend… with you. If you’d like.”

I feel fear run through me like ice water. That didn’t work out so well last time. Staring at the TV, I watch the long-haired chick handle some very impressive weaponry without really seeing it. The silence stretches out over what feels like a long time.

Then I feel him nod against my chest. “Okay,” he says but doesn’t elaborate. Since I haven’t said anything, he must be talking to himself.

I clear my throat. “Where did you think of going?”

“Uhm, Philadelphia? There's an…”

“…exhibition there that you'd like to see.”

He chuckles again. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” I agree. It’s not as if I'll avoid traveling for the rest of my life because of what happened. I got used to driving again pretty quickly. Although I think he’s got it a bit backwards. It’s his birthday, so shouldn’t I do something for him, not the other way round? Not that I can afford taking him away for the weekend.

“So what do you want for your birthday?”

He turns his head to look back at me and smiles broadly, before turning to look at the screen again and shrugging. “Nothing really.  Just you.”

He's really sappy sometimes, but I feel in extraordinary high spirits today. Michael and I are sort of okay again and Justin is here with me and I'm exactly where I want to be right now.

I look back at the TV.

“I’m right here.”

 

 

 

**EPILOGUE**

We're a little late – for the usual reasons – but it doesn’t matter. As we slip into our seats at the table, they're only about a tenth through the proceedings. Which is not surprising since Adam Lyons is the emcee and he's notorious for liking to hear himself talk.

“How is it?” I ask the guy next to me.

“Boring as always. I only come every year to see if there’s a repeat of ‘91.”

I smile at that. Brian raises his eyebrows questioningly.

“Bill Evans, the previous owner, was a no show – mainly because he was broke,” I explain to him quietly. “After two hours, some catering guy tried to give out the awards but gave up soon. Then some drunk took over the stage but he was booed off when he started singing. And in the end, there was a run on the awards, which were left on the table when everyone started to leave. It’s known as ‘the most bizarre event in advertising history’”

“You’re kidding,” he says incredulously, then he grins. “Were you there?”

That gets him a slap with the back of my hand against his chest. “Watch it! I’m not _that_ old.”

In a way, I wish the Clio Awards were still as formal as they used to be, if only for the pleasure of seeing Brian in a tux tonight. As it is, he looks stunning enough in a suit. I’m not quite sure how I got here, but I assume that Vance put me forward, as is his right, since he owns every campaign I ever did. It'll have cost him a small fortune just to enter, so he must have been pretty convinced of his success. Luckily, he's sitting quite a few tables away from us with some of the Vangard team.

Brian did his usual ‘I’m too cool to look excited’ when I invited him to come along. The tickets are a bit steep, but it's not as if I can't afford them, even with scaling my hours at gallery back a little so that I can attend PIFA twice a week. It's an indulgence, but I have the money for it and it's what I want.  It will take me a few years to get my degree, which suits me just fine since I'm having fun along the way. I'm actually more excited about the fact that Sidney wants to put one of my paintings up after the current exhibition finishes. It will be displayed near the back, but it’s a start.

Brian has been at Pitt for three months now. The summer was a little rough for us. He had a warehouse summer job, which meant that we were both working and coming home in the evenings and I think it smacked too much of domestic bliss for him. After the first week, he completely freaked, started treating me like shit and fucking his way through all of Pittsburgh. In the end, I had to put my foot down, but he allowed himself to be reined in easily enough. There was a new rule: home by three, every night.

But of course, none of the rules are needed any longer. Brian lives in the dorms now and he's free to do whatever he likes. At first, even after all this time, I was worried that I'd never see him again and that was true for the first two and a half weeks until he surprised me one night by being at the loft after I came home from work. By that time, I had nearly given up hope.

Since then, he’s there whenever he feels like it, which is most weekends and sometimes during the week. At times, I don’t see him for a week or more, at others he's there every day, depending on how clingy or trapped he feels. My favorite is when I come home from having been out late – with Daphne or my new friends from PIFA – and find him asleep in my bed.

I know he tricks, heavily at times. I think he’s probably fucked half his year by now. I don’t mind that. I trick myself occasionally, when he leaves it too long between visits. What I hate is that, when he feels insecure about me, because maybe I've mentioned some guy’s name one too many times for his liking, he tends to talk about what he’s been up to in great detail. As much as I want him to have his freedom when he's not with me, I really do not want to hear about it.

“At Kennedy & Lyons, where I work in New York, we have this saying, the only thing better than sex is a great advertising campaign. So I have great pleasure in announcing the winner of the silver trophy in the print advertising category: Justin Taylor, formerly of Vangard, for the Brown Athletics campaign.” Trust Lyons to bring up sex in his introduction. He made a pass at me a while back and I turned him down. His reaction was quite irate and he's alternated between scathing disdain and unsubtle innuendos whenever we meet ever since. As I make my way to the stage under the applause from my former colleagues, I can see that he’s gearing up to have another go. He has that predatory look about him.

He hands me the statue and I smile and say, away from the microphone, “Your script still stinks.”

Then I step forward to say a few words. Silver is a great achievement, especially since there's no gold this year. It's customary to be brief because there are over eighty awards and it makes for a long evening. We're only at number forty-six and Brian and I are already a little bored.

Looking at the three large panels of my drawings, which are displayed on the screen behind the podium, I turn back to the audience. “Pretty, aren’t they?” There are some laughs. “I did those – by hand. At the time, in August last year, I had an intern working with me. He was still in high school, seventeen years old. This campaign,” I point to the panels, “was his idea. He came up with it. He designed the whole concept, from the graphics to the slogan. All his. I just did the drawings. He's now studying marketing at the University of Pittsburgh. His name is Brian Kinney. You'd do well to remember that name because you will hear it a lot more in future. So thank you for the award and thank you, Brian.”

I look at him and for the first time since I’ve met him, he looks completely stunned. Then he covers it up with a grin. The audience takes a few beats before they start applauding. In an industry that works with ideas and has its fair share of ideological theft, nobody ever admits to an idea not being theirs. It's one of those things no one talks about. Ideas get stolen all the time. Managers claim campaigns that were really designed by some junior executive. Competitors bribe people to spy on each other. It's all about what you can prove.

When I reach the table, Brian gets up and I demonstratively hand him the statue. There's not much he can do with it, since it has my name engraved on it, but he definitely deserves it more than me and I really don’t want it. He smiles, then he bends down to kiss me, on the lips, just for a few seconds. “You wanna get out of here?”

“With pleasure.”

Walking down the corridor towards the entrance of the hotel, Brian is still shaking his head at me, telling me without words that he thinks I’m crazy, when I hear my name being called. I turn to see Warren Siegel coming towards us, who somehow fell on his feet after getting sacked by Vance and now works for Kennedy & Lyons. I’m happy for him. He’s a nice guy.

“Hey, Warren, I didn’t see you in there.”

“Hey, Justin. Brian.” He smiles at both of us in turn. “We're at a table near the back. Susan's expecting and needs to slip out to the toilet every five minutes.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. You caused quite a stir in there. Is it true?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t true.”

He looks at Brian, but I can’t work out what he’s thinking. It isn’t admiration. Or amusement. Or envy. It’s more like… concern. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” he then says to me.

I hesitate, but Brian just shrugs and ambles away further down the corridor. Sometimes I wish he wouldn’t always be so quick to give up any claim to be a part of my life.

“I don’t quite know how to say this, Justin, but when we were still at Ryder’s, there was an incident involving Brian.”

“What kind of an incident?”

“Actually, I’m not entirely sure. I was in the men’s room one day and he came in looking terribly upset. I asked him if he was all right and he said yes, but it was kind of obvious that he wasn’t. So I sent my PA off to make some enquiries and the general consensus in the office was that something happened when he was in Kip Thomas’s office. Something nasty. Nobody knew what it was, but as Kip was off sick the two weeks before we all got fired, I reckon it was more than a rumor. I was kind of waiting for you to call me and speak to me about Kip, but you never did. Did Brian not tell you?”

“No, he definitely told me.” Well, that’s not a lie, is it?

“Why did nothing come of it?”

“He didn’t want me to say anything about it.”

“What did Kip do? He always gave me the creeps. He was too smarmy.”

“Not really happy to talk about that, Warren. But tell me, why did it take you so long to tell me – or anybody?”

“Well, at first I didn’t know what to do. Then Vangard happened and I didn’t think about it for a while. But later I told Susan about it and she was very angry that I just let it slide. But you don’t think about these things when it’s a guy, do you? If Brian was a girl, I probably would have, but he isn’t and he doesn’t look as young as he is either.”

“So because Brian is a guy and looks over twenty, it’s all right for Kip to molest him?”

“That’s not what I mean, Justin. You know me better than that. It’s just that… you don’t think of guys as victims, do you?” He looks down the corridor to where Brian's leaning against the wall, hands in his pants pockets, eyeing a waiter who's pushing a cart along the corridor very slowly while sticking his ass out more than is strictly necessary. Brian smirks and then looks back at me. “Is he all right?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Why did you tell me now?”

“Because it's been bugging me for over a year now. Guilty conscience, I suppose. And Susan insisted when she saw you in there just now. So, you and he are together?”

I still don’t know how to answer that question. My heart tells me yes, but my head tells me that Brian doesn’t see it that way and won’t for a long time. It's certainly the longest relationship that I’ve ever had. In general, I'm definitely with Brian, but I think he’s only with me when he doesn’t think about it too much. Still, I’m the one he comes home to in the end, even if he doesn’t officially live there at the moment. At least now that he has a place to stay and some money, I can be absolutely certain, that when he is with me, it's because he wants to be.

“Yeah,” I say. There's no reason to go into details.

“Good for you.”

I look at Brian again and it's impossible to tell what he's thinking. He lowers his head a little and looks at me from under his eyelashes and I'm assailed by a spike of lust that makes my dick stir and a wave of love that makes my heart burst with longing when he’s just there, thirty feet away. It will be a while still until he's ready, but I can wait.

I smile. “Yeah, good for me.”

 

*******

 

Justin is crazy. He does the strangest things sometimes, like telling a roomful of people that the award he's just been given should really go to me. Why would he do that? But that’s who he is. He doesn’t think he deserves it, so he rectifies that. He's always had a clearer roadmap than I. It’s like I’m using GPS and can only see a little bit of the way, but he has one of those old-fashioned maps that you spread out over the whole table. It allows him to make little detours, if necessary, and still be sure to get where he wants to be in the end. It might take a little longer, but at least you know the whole picture.

They finish their conversation, which is so about me, I just know it. Warren raises his hand in goodbye in my direction and Justin comes over. He doesn’t say anything, just smiles, and so I won’t ask. I’m not a nosy kid.

“Do you wanna go to Babylon?” he asks.

“Sure.”

At Babylon, we hand in our suit jackets and the Clio statue at the coat check-in – neither one of us is particularly bothered about getting it back. I stop Justin before he goes in. He's pulled his shirt out of his pants and I roll up his sleeves for him. Then I very slowly unbutton him. His eyes never leave mine and I’m thinking backroom already.

I bend down to speak quietly into his ear. “Now you look almost exactly like you did the first time I saw you.”

He smiles at me as if I said something really sweet and that doesn’t make me as uncomfortable as it used to. We find Michael and Ted propping up the bar as usual. Emmett's probably already in the backroom. He always is. I give Michael a kiss and he smiles up at me. We do that again nowadays, but it took us a long time to get there. And we're not quite back to how touchy-feely we were before, but it’s okay for now, until I find a way to fix it.

Justin's getting drinks for us and everyone else. It’s a typical Saturday night at Babylon, busy and loud and hot. I roll my own shirt sleeves up and look around to check out the crowd. Then I nudge Ted in the ribs. He pulls away sharply, rubs where my elbow hit him and looks at me warily.

“The twink at the end of the bar's cruising you, Theodore. Are you blind?”

He turns to look at the guy, who's beaming back at him, as he has done for the last two weeks, while Ted was either totally oblivious or pretending to be.

“Guys like that don’t cruise guys like me,” he says and tries not to look in that direction again, making a piss-poor job of it.

“His name's Blake and he’s been doing it for two weeks. I think he means it.”

“How do you know his name?” He sounds suspicious now. “You already had him?”

“I wouldn’t know his name if I had.” I almost tell him that it’s against the rules that Justin and I have, but that's none of his business. “Go and ask him to dance. What have you got to lose? ... Except your cherry?”

He glares at me. I’m almost sure that I’m right about him still being a virgin, but Ted sometimes surprises me. Like now, when he makes his way over to the end of the bar and actually starts a conversation with the guy. Well, that's as far as my interference goes. He'll have to fend for himself from now on in, because I've just spotted someone more interesting on the dance floor.

“Let’s dance.” I grab Michael's hand and pull him with me. I’m glad that he no longer gloats at Justin every time I do that.

We dance for a while and I bump a little into the guy next to me – not quite accidentally. He turns to look and then smiles.

“Hey, Brian.” And then he does what he always does when he sees me, which is look around until his eyes fix on Michael. I pull my friend a little closer.

“You remember Ben, Mikey?”

Mikey nods and smiles at Ben.

“Ben’s a professor now.”

“Really? I thought you were a bouncer.”

Ben is no longer at Pitt. He has moved on to Carnegie Mellon to become a professor for English literature there. I haven’t seen him for quite a while now, but he’s obviously still around. I've been keeping an eye out for him, too, because, while I tried to keep him and Michael apart for the longest time, I've come to hope that he might be the solution to our problems. Michael and I have never got past a certain level of awkwardness. We kiss, we touch, but it’s not the same. We pretend that it is, but it’s not. Almost, but not quite. I want it to stop being awkward.

I move back a few steps, so I can’t hear the conversation anymore and luckily Michael doesn’t follow me, but keeps dancing and talking to Ben. Then I feel a hand on my ass and turn to look at some guy, who's tall, dark, handsome and… oh, nice package. I grin at him and he takes that as a sign to move closer and start grinding against me. Definitely nice. And big.

After a while, he nods towards the backroom and I smile.  Leaning closer to him, I say in a mock regretful tone, “Sorry. Got a better offer for tonight.”

When I get back to the bar, Justin is in conversation with some guy, but he moves away pretty quickly when I glare at him over Justin’s head. Justin frowns after him, then notices me and smiles. “What have you been up to? Playing matchmaker?”

“Oh, please. I don’t match-make. I set up fucks. That’s all.”

He laughs. “Of course. How about setting one up for me?” He moves a little closer and presses against me to make sure I understand what he's saying. I look around the room as if I’m trying to decide on someone. When I look back at him, his smile has lost some of its brightness. Sometimes he just makes it too easy. What is he thinking? I haven’t seen him all week and we only had a couple of fucks at the loft when we were getting dressed for the awards ceremony. Does he really think that is enough? There's no such thing as enough. Not with Justin.   

“Do you wanna get out of here?” I seem to be a little restless. We left the Clio awards early and we only just arrived here, but I realize now that this isn't what I want tonight. I wanna be alone with him, like I so often do. But I wouldn’t dream of saying something as sappy as that.

Justin just nods and smiles softly. Because he heard it anyway.

 

 

  
_THE END  
_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


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